An Affair to Remember
by grayautumnsky13
Summary: When a snow storm strikes, Robin Locksley and Regina Regina Mills–two strangers–find themselves trapped together at a country inn, and ovemer the course of their time together, they find themsleves slowly but surely falling in love. But what will happen once the storm passes?
1. Chapter 1

"Son of a fucking bitch," Regina says, sliding into a booth and slamming a slip of paper down onto the table as Graham's eyebrows arch. "Can you _believe_ this?"

"I… don't know," Graham murmurs as he looks up at her from over the top of his menu. "Would you care to elaborate on what we're so outraged about?"

For a moment, she just stares at him, bristling as her jaw tightens and she struggles to find her words. "I… just… I came home and found _this_ attached to my door." She shoves the slip off paper toward him. "They _lost_ it! Four days before Christmas and they _lost_ it."

Slowly, Graham reaches for the slip of paper. "It?"

"It!" She exclaims. "They lost Henry's Christmas present."

"Fedex lost _one_ present?" Her eyes widen as a he chuckles softly to himself and she feels her entire body start to tense. "Regina, it's the holidays. Do you know how many packages they deliver this time of year? Honestly, it's amazing that anyone gets–"

"My son isn't _anyone_."

Graham's eyes close and he takes a breath–and Regina feels a momentary pang of guilt. "That isn't what I meant."

"I know," she admits with a soft sigh as her head falls back against the back of the booth, trying desperately–and in vain–to calm herself. "It's just the _only_ thing he asked for this year… and now… it's gone." Swallowing hard, she takes a breath. She shouldn't have to explain this to Graham. She shouldn't have to remind him that Henry is growing up much too quickly for her or remind him that this was probably going to be the last year he believed in Santa, in the magic of Christmas. Sure, Christmases would go on and new traditions would replace the old ones. In a year, there'd be something new that captivated Henry's imagination and in five years, he'd barely remember what he'd opened on that particular Christmas morning.

But she would.

"Or worse, it's sitting under someone else's tree, waiting for someone else's kid to open it on Christmas morning."

"He'll understand. He's an amazing kid."

"He shouldn't have to _understand_ ," she snaps–and once more, she feels a quick pang of guilt at her core. It's not Graham's fault and she knows it; and deep down, she knows that he's right and sometimes, these things just happen. "I just want this Christmas to be special for him."

"And it will be," Graham says easily. "Just like _every_ other Christmas has been. You'll make sure of it. Just like you always do. I bet he won't even notice that he's missing a…" Graham's voice trails off and he looks down at the door tag from FedEx, then slowly back to her when he finds the information lacking. "What exactly did you order?"

"A Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster in red."

"A Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster," Graham repeats slowly.

"In red."

"So, a… toy gun that shoots foam balls."

"Yes," she says, finding herself tensing at his tone. "He's nine. He's into–"

"I just expected something more…" Graham's voice trails off and he reaches for the menu. "I don't know. I just didn't expect a Nerf gun to be the elusive gift."

Regina blinks and her jaw tightens. Even though she knows it's not it feels like a dig. "It's sold out everywhere."

"Everywhere? Really?" Graham asks skeptically. "Something like that?"

"Yes," she replies curtly as she reaches for her own menu. "It is."

Graham offers her a little grin that she can't quite read, and then looks back to the menu. "Once you've had some lunch, you'll feel better about this," he tells her absently. "I heard this place has really good pizza." Her brow arches skeptical–he doesn't know her at all. "Want to split one? They've got a veggie one that looks good."

"No," she murmurs back, her eyes casting down at the menu as he looks up. "I'm not hungry enough for pizza."

"Regina, don't let this upset–"

"It's Christmas, Graham. And I know you don't get it, but that gift was important to me." Shaking her head, she sighs. "When I ordered it, all I could think about was the look on Henry's face when he opens it and…" A soft grin edges its way onto her lips. "The way his eyes would widen and his jaw would drop open a little as he looked up at me, the way he'd carefully open the box and then lay out all the pieces on the carpet, marveling over them and… the way he'd spend the rest of the day holding it and playing with it and…" She shrugs. "I'm not going to have that moment now, _he's_ not going to have it. And… a couple of slices of greasy pizza isn't going to make that better."

For a moment, Graham doesn't reply–and then, he chuckles softly. "What about the salmon kale salad?"

Her lips purse as she drops down the menu, shaking her head and dropping the menu as she scoffs. "You know, never mind," she says as she grabs her phone. "I'm not really in the mood for lunch."

"Regina, come on," he sighs, reaching for her hand. "I just…I think you're overreacting. Maybe the package will turn up after the holiday craziness dies down."

"Maybe," she murmurs, pulling her hand away as she taps the Google app on her phone. "Even if it does, it'll all be ruined. He'll know for sure then."

"Know what?"

She doesn't reply, instead, just rolling her eyes as she focuses on her phone–somewhere, a Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster _in red_ existed, and it was going to be hers.

Graham offers an audible sigh as he leans back into the booth and focuses back down at his menu–and once again, she feels another pang of guilt. He was only trying to make her feel better about a situation that couldn't be changed–but still, despite the guilt, she can't quite muster an apology. The waitress comes and he orders his pizza–and then, his voice drops an octave and he orders her a kale salad with grilled chicken, bacon crumbles, avocado and a vinaigrette on the side. She rolls her eyes–

she thinks to herself as she focuses down her down phone and her quest for a Nerf gun.

For awhile, a tense silence falls between them as she scrolls through the online inventories in whatever toy stores Google points her toward. Their food comes and she pretends not to notice it–and she pretends not notice the way Graham inches the plate of salad closer and closer to her. Sitting back in the booth, she offers him an annoyed sigh as she clicks onto the site of a little independently owned toy store on the outskirts of Hartford–nearly thirty miles from her mother's house, she notes–and then, when she clicks the link for the Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster, instead of an image that's grayed out and reads _Out Of Stock_ , she see a bolded _Only One Left! Get this item TODAY!_ and a little thrill runs down her spine–maybe Henry's Christmas can be saved, after all.

"And it's _red_ ," she whispers to herself, her fingers trembling as she clicks the link–and, then just as quickly as it came, her excitement flees and a knot forms in the pit of her stomach. "Noooo," she whimpers underneath her breath as she clicks on the stories policies and spots _No Holds During the Holidays. Our Apologies!_ in bolded red lettering. "No, no, no. You _have_ to hold it."

"You found the gun?"

Nodding, she drops the phone onto the table and looks up at Graham. "This little store has _one_ left and they don't hold merchandise during the holidays."

Graham blinks. "So, go get it."

"The store is just outside of Hartford. It would take me _hours_ to get there. And Henry doesn't get out of school for another two hours. By the time I pick him up, drive to my mom's in Cheshire Village, _then_ drive to Hartford, it'll probably be gone."

"So," Graham murmurs as he plucks a pepperoni from his pizza. "Call and see if they can hold it."

"They _can't_. It's their policy. It says so on their site." Crossing her arms over her chest, she blinks back her tears, fully aware that crying won't solve anything–and crying over something like this probably isn't the most mature reaction she could have. "So close…"

"Go now, then."

Looking back at Graham, her eyes narrow. "I have to pick up Henry and–"

"I'll pick him up," Graham cuts in. "I can get him and take him to your mom's."

"She lives in Connecticut."

"I'm aware."

"And we're in New York."

"Again, I'm aware."

"But, you've… never done that."

"I know," Graham says with an easy shrug of his shoulder. "But maybe it's time that I should." At that, her stomach drops and her throat suddenly feels tight. "Regina, we've been dating for _five_ years, and I've never even met your mother."

"If you knew her, you'd understand."

"But that's just it… I _don't_ know her."

"I don't know, Graham," she sighs. "It'll take me hours to get to that store, regardless, and–"

"Call them."

"What?"

"Call the store. See if it's still on the shelf. See if they'll make an exception and if they can't, keep calling."

A little grin twists onto her lips. "I could."

"If they sell it, just… go to your mom's. Henry and I will meet you there."

Taking a breath, she considers it–and though the entire thing makes her more uncomfortable than it should, she finds herself nodding. "That's a really long drive for you to just drop off Henry."

"Who says I'd just be dropping him off?"

Her stomach drops and she feels vaguely nauseous as she blinks at him and tries not to consider what he's implying. "Graham…"

"Call them, Regina. I'll handle Henry."

"It's a shot in the dark. It probably won't even be…"

"You've spent the last half an hour sulking about this Nerf gun, and now that you've potentially found one, you don't want it because you're worried about inconveniencing me?"

She bristles and looks back to the image on her phone–it's not about _inconveniencing_ Graham. "Okay," she hears herself say. "I'll go."

"Good."

"You're _sure_ you don't mind getting Henry?"

"Positive." A grin edges onto his lips. "And I don't mind meeting your mother, either."

An uncomfortable laugh escapes her, but Graham doesn't seem to notice her tone. "You won't be saying that _after_ you meet her."

"I'm sure she's not as bad as that."

"Oh, she is," Regina sighs. "But I'm stuck with her, and every Christmas Henry and I visit my father's grave and…" Her voice trails off, realizing this is something she's never confided to Graham. "Anyway, I really appreciate you doing this," she says as she grabs her phone and purse and slides from the booth. "I owe you."

"You don't _owe_ me."

Again, that uncomfortable little laugh escapes her and her another wave of nausea hits her when Graham smiles at her. "I'll see you later, then," she murmurs as she tucks her phone into the front pocket of her purse. "And thanks again," she says as she turns away from him–just barely aware that it never occurred to her to kiss him goodbye or say anymore than _thank_ you or the feeling of relief that washes over her at the realization that after an hour with Cora, he'll be well on his way back to New York.

And by the time she reaches her car, thoughts of Graham are completely forgotten and instead, she's focused on her determination to purchase a Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster _in red_ for her son.

He feels oddly anxious as he rounds the corner and looks up at a new selection of toys–and though Roland already has too many presents underneath the tree from both him and Marian… and Mulan, somehow, this year, it just doesn't seem like enough.

To say it's been a rough year for all of them is an understatement, and Roland has handled it with more grace and ease than any of them–or at least, that's what he let them all think.

 _He_ was less than convinced.

And he was certain that when Roland hit his teenage years, a very expensive therapist would agree with him.

Taking a long breath, Robin looks at a row of Paw Patrol Sea Patrollers, and his lip catches between his lip, remembering that Paw Patrol was last year's craze–and as his son loved to remind him, he was no longer a baby. He was a first-grader.

So, Robin continues down the aisle around rounds the aisle in search of toys that older boys–not babies–would enjoy. A triumphant little grin edges onto his lips as he looks at a meager selection of Nerf products, and tentatively, he reaches for two boxes–the first is a green and orange Zombie Strike Outbreaker Bow and the other is the Nemesis Blaster in red. There are several boxes of the bows left, but only one gun–and though, he personally like the bow and arrow set a little more, clearly the gun was the more popular item this holiday season.

"Oh, nooooo," he hears someone murmur as he drops the Nerf gun into his cart. "That's the last one." Looking up from his cart, he sees a woman standing just a few feet away from him with a look of utter defeat on her face. "Are you… _sure_ you want that?" She asks, grimacing as her eyes fall to the Nerf gun in his cart. "It seemed like you could go either way… the gun or the bow…"

"Um, yeah, I think my son will like this."

"Yeah," she sighs. "He probably will. I know mine would have." For a moment, she just stands there–and he feels guilt pang at his core as she stares into his cart at the Nerf gun. Her shoulders slump forward and her eyes sink closed as she lets out a breath–then, she lifts her head and force a smile. "Well… I hope your son enjoys it. Merry Christmas."

She starts to turn and again, he feels a pang of guilt–he knows that look, that tone, that feeling of absolute failure that comes with knowing that you're about to disappoint your child. "Wait," he hears himself call out, not even registering he'd made the decision to do so. She turns back and her eyes widen, glistening hopefully as he reaches into the cart–and for a moment, it's all he can do not to stare.

She's wearing a dark gray coat that's knotted at the waist with cream colored scarf tucked into it. She's holding a pair of gloves and there's a light dusting of snow on her shoulders and in her dark hair. Her cheeks are rosy and her deep, dark eyes plead with him–and for a split second, he's taken aback by how beautiful this seemingly broken hearted stranger is.

"My son didn't actually ask for this," he begins, holding out the Nerf gun to her. "And, truth be told, I think my ex-wife would rather me give him a bow and arrow set than a gun." He shrugs and rolls his eyes. "And that would make one less thing for us to fight about, which really is the best gift we could give our son this Christmas."

"I… I couldn't," she says, looking down at the Nerf gun as she shifts on her feet. "You… you beat me to it. It's only… fair that you should get it."

A little grin pulls onto his lips–that seemed difficult for her to say and he can tell that she wants nothing more than to take Nerf gun and disappear with it. "Honestly, I'll get the bow. It's not a big deal."

"Are you… sure?"

"Yeah," he says with an easy nod. "Like I said, my son didn't ask for it… and judging by the look on your face when you saw me put it in my cart, your son _did_ ask for it."

"He did," she tells him, smiling a bit awkwardly as she nods. "In fact, it was the _only_ thing he asked for."

" _That_ sounds like a test."

Sighing, her lip catches between her teeth and she nods. "He's nine. A lot of his friends don't believe in Santa Claus anymore. He didn't even want to go to Macy's this year to give Santa his list and get a picture and…" Her voice trails off as she looks back at him. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because watching our kids grow up is both amazingly wonderful and amazingly difficult."

"Yeah," she murmurs, a little wistfully as she smiles. "You… you get it."

"I do."

She laughs a little and shakes her head, "The whole way here I thought I might be crazy."

His brow creases. "All parents are a little crazy around the holidays," he says easily, smiling when she smiles up at him. "It comes with the territory."

"Thank you for that. I… I needed to hear it."

Taking a few steps toward her, he grins and holds the Nerf gun out to her. "Here," he says. "I insist."

"Are you… are you sure? I mean, it's Christmas and…" She shrugs. "From what I hear that is _the toy_ of the season. Even if your son didn't ask for it, he's going to want it… especially if all of his friends have it." He watches as her eyes fall to the Nerf gun and he can tell how desperately she wants to take it from him. "Besides, it's not your fault FedEx lost the one I ordered. You should… you should keep it."

Chuckling softly, he shakes his head. "You are trying _very_ hard to resist."

"I am," she says, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I just… I don't want to take some other kid's gift."

"And that's admirable," he says, once against holding out the Nerf gun to her. "But when it comes to your kid at Christmas, that's not really the time to be admirable." She laughs softly and he finds himself smiling as he slowly reaches for the box. "Besides, like I said, my son will be just as happy with the Zombie Strike Outbreaker Bow."

He watches as she looks down at the box and sucks in a short breath. "You're _absolutely_ sure? You're not just saying that to avoid a fight with your ex?"

"Positive," he says, chuckling softly. "I have no doubt that she and I will find something else to fight about." Her eyes widen a little as she looks up and he shakes his head dismissively. "Besides, if I get him the bow, I can get one for myself, too, and…" he chuckles softly as a grin tugs onto her lips, "And I am sure that after a few hours _that_ will drive her absolutely crazy."

"Then, I… I guess it's a win-win situation," she says, drawing in a breath. "Still, though, I'm not sure how to thank you. You really have no idea how much this means to me."

"I think I do, actually," he says, his smile deepening as she folds her arm around the box, hugging it to her chest. "And who knows, maybe one day you'll be able to return the favor."

"Yeah, maybe," she says, nodding as she smiles and holds the box a little tighter. "I… I can't tell you how relieved I am."

"I get it."

"I could kiss you–" Her eyes widen a little as her voice halts, and her cheeks flush deeper. "I just… I mean… I…" She stops and scrunches her nose, grimacing as she shakes her head. "I'm going to go now."

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs, chuckling softly as she turns on her heels–and once she's disappeared around the corner, he laughs out and his head falls back. In the year since the divorce, he hasn't so much as looked at another woman, let alone found himself attracted to one–then, suddenly, when he found himself face-to-face with someone he _was_ actually attracted to, he hadn't even remembered to ask for her name. "Smooth, Locksley," he mutters as he reaches for the Nerf Zombie Strike Outbreaker Bow. "Really smooth."

Shaking his head, he continues down the aisle, deciding to find a few more stocking stuffers before heading over to Marian's—and as he reaches for a tube of tiny Hot Wheels, he sighs to himself. At least he knew that he still had the ability to _feel_ , even if he'd lost any and all capability to flirt.

Looking down at her phone, she sighs and ignores the call–it's not like she won't see Graham in a little more than an hour, anyway, and based on the steady stream of pictures that Henry had sent her, they'd arrived safe and sound at her mother's. Whatever Graham had to say could wait.

She tosses the bag into the passenger seat and smiles at it–and for a moment, she lets herself imagine the look on Henry's face when he opens it on Christmas day, and the hassle and stress suddenly feels so worth it. She puts on her windshield wipers to dust off the snow and groans when they take a few extra swipes to fully clear the window–and then, she backs out of the space, her thoughts swimming as she wonders what sort of wrapping paper her mother has handy, whether or not Henry will still be awake when she arrives and whether or not Graham will still be never quite solidified his purpose for this trip, outside of delivering Henry to her mother's and there's a part of her–a part larger than she cares to admit–that hopes an hour or so with her mother sent him running as fast as he could back to New York. And then, somewhat surprisingly, she finds herself daydreaming about the man in the toy store–and his deep blue eyes and muscular arms.

Somewhere between thoughts, she made it to the freeway–and she sighs in aggravation when she finds herself practically parked on the entrance ramp.

She cranes her neck as she attempts to see what the hold up is, but all she can see are brake lights, shining red against the snow-covered road. Leaning back in the seat, she sighs and flips on the radio–and all that seems to be playing on any station is Christmas music and weather reports. Rolling her eyes, she lifts her foot up from the brake, edging forward only slightly, before pressing down on it once again–and again, traffic stands still. Looking up, she grimaces at the snow–it seems to be coming down harder and the flakes seem thicker–and suddenly, she feels her stomach tighten with dread.

A half an hour later, she's made it to the next exit and acting on impulse, she turns off the freeway and onto the backroads, hoping she'll fare better there. The roads are snowy and she can barely see as her car inches along a dark road–and after twenty minutes have passed, and she's hardly moved.

Muttering a few choice expletives as she attempts to turn, she watches as her tires kick up snow–and finally, when she floors the gas pedal, the car pushes forward and rounds the bed–and she finds herself in the middle of a snow-covered parking lot.

She attempts to back out, but again, finds her car stuck–and though her windshield wipers are on full force, her window is once more covered in snow.

"Son of a bitch," she mutters as she pushes her shifter into park and shoves the door open–and her door gets stuck in the accumulating snow. "This is just _perfect_." Shoving the door open, she grabs her window scraper and steps out of the car–and her jaw tightens when she feels cold, wet snow forming around the top of her boot. "Son of a _fucking_ bitch."

Slamming the door shut, she looks from her car to the hazy sign at the front of the lot, and squints as she tries to make out the words on the sign. "What the hell is _Granny's_?" She asks herself as she opens the car door again to retrieve her purse and shopping back. Locking her car with the key fob, she grumbles as she trudges through the snow to the front… whatever the hell _Granny's_ is.

Opening the door, she shakes the snow off of her coat and stomps her feet on the mat, shivering as some of the snow falls into her boot–and from across the room, she hears a hearty chuckle.

"Quite a storm, isn't it?"

Blinking, she looks up to see and older, gray-haired woman sitting behind a counter with glasses perched on her nose. "Yeah. It is."

"We haven't seen this much snow in _years_ ," the woman tells her. "And the reports say we're lookin' to set a local record."

"How… perfect."

"They're thinking two feet–maybe even more."

"Granny," cuts in another voice, belonging to a much younger woman who comes down from the stairs. "She doesn't care." The older woman's brow furrows and her lips part as if she's about to argue, but the younger woman rounds the counter and waves Regina over. "I'd guess you're looking for a room."

"I… don't know," Regina murmurs, looking back over her shoulder at her car–which is once again covered in snow. "My car kept getting stuck and–"

"And it's going to keep getting stuck until the plows come out," the older woman interjects. "And that won't be for a few days."

"Days?"

"Not til the snow stops, and even then, these back roads always get done last."

"Oh, that's… that's not good."

"Maybe not, but there's nothing we can do about it."

Regina sighs in resignation and looks to the younger woman. "Then, yes. I guess I am looking to see if you have any rooms available." Looking around, she makes her wait to the front desk, taking in the rustic–and tacky–decor. "At least for the night."

"You are in luck," the woman tells her. "We have one room left."

"I guess today's my lucky day, then," Regina murmurs–half serious and half mocking–as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a credit card. "Do you have wifi?"

The younger woman laughs. "We don't even have cable."

"Oh…"

"Someone over here," she says pointedly as she looks to the older woman, "doesn't see the need."

"It's not hurting business."

"But it's not helping."

The older woman's brow furrows. "I bought a DVD player."

"The rooms have DVD players?" Regina asks passively–though, she's not sure why, it's not like she carries a stash of DVDs in her bag.

"No," the younger woman says. "We have _one_. It's in the main, common room."

"Oh…"

"But you have your own bathroom and control your own heat."

"And there's a fire place…"

"In case you feel like pretending you're living in the nineteenth century."

Regina blinks as she looks between them. "That sounds…. just great."

A smirk edges onto Ruby's lips. "Famous last words."

"Who knows? Maybe this weekend will surprise me."

"Where are you from?" The older woman asks, as she leans over and pushes up her glasses as she looks to the computer screen. "We'll need your driver's license, by the way."

"Manhattan," Regina murmurs as as fiddles with the zipper on her wallet.

The older woman grins. "Maybe you can think of this as a get-away from all that hustle and bustle."

Ruby's eyes roll. "Unless you _like_ the hustle and bustle… then maybe you can think of this as a test of your sanity."

Regina nods and takes in a short breath. "I guess we'll just have to see which it turns out to be."

She smiles as the younger woman asks for her driver's license–and an odd sense of relief washes over her. She's glad to be off the road. She hadn't realized it until she walked into the inn, but her shoulders and neck were tense and there was a dull aching at her temples–and the thought of a long, hot shower sounded like absolute heaven. She pulls off her gloves and tucks them into her pocket as the younger woman turns to a printer behind her, tapping her foot impatiently as she waits for the paperwork to come out.

"We'll just need a signature," the older woman tells her. "And then it's _all_ yours." In her pocket, her phone buzzes with a text. She reaches for her and sighs as she sees Graham's number, and without looking at it, she slips the phone back into her pocket–she'll check it later, she decides. "Okay, here you go. Just sign on the line, and here is your room key."

Another feeling of relief washes over her as she picks up the pen and scribbles her name, once more ignoring the buzzing in her pocket. "Thank you. I can't wait to get upstairs and warm up."

"Oh, I'll bet," the older woman says as she takes the pen and paperwork back. "Ruby will show you to your room now, and I'll make a copy of this and slide it under your door."

"Thank you," she says again, grabbing her purse and shopping bag as she follows Ruby toward the stairs.

She feels a gust of cold air, and she suddenly remembers the suitcase in her trunk. "Oh, before we go up," she says, taking a half step back. "I want to get my bag."

Ruby nods and she turns–and standing at the front entrance is the man from the toy store. She feels a goofy grin edge onto her lips as their eyes meet, and he tips his head to the side, grinning back at her–and then she grimaces. She must look like a complete fool.

"On second thought," she says, turning back to Ruby. "Why don't we go up to the room, and then I'll come down and grab my bag after settling in. I'd really like to call my son and–"

"Are there any vacancies?"

"I'm sorry. We just booked the last room."

"Oh," he murmurs, the disappointment in his voice evident. "I was hoping…" He sighs. "Nevermind. Do you know if there are any other hotels or bed and breakfast type places nearby?"

"I'm sorry. Just us."

"I see. Well, I suppose it's a good thing I've got a full tank of gas. I can–"

"We've got rollaway beds," the older woman says as Regina stops, turning back to look at the man from the toy store, remembering how he'd so selflessly–and so easily–given up the Nerf gun for his own son so that her son could have it. "We could put you up for the night in the commons area."

"Granny," Ruby murmurs. "That's… not exactly ideal."

"Neither is being stuck in a storm."

"I'll take whatever you have to offer," he says. "Otherwise, I'll be sleeping in my truck and–"

"Why don't you stay with me?" Regina says, her eyes widening at her own suggestion. "I… I haven't seen the room yet, but I assume there's plenty of room for two."

Granny's eyebrows arch and a soft grin edges onto her lips. "Are you sure?"

Regina nods. "I… I'm sure."

"Do you… know him?" Ruby asks, her voice filled with skepticism. "I mean…"

"I do know him," Regina says, as her lip catches between her teeth. "And I owe him a favor."

His eyes widen. "I… don't think me allowing you to buy a toy I hadn't yet purchased is quite the same as–"

"It's all a matter of timing," she says, shrugging her shoulders–fully aware of how crazy her suggestion was and somewhat taken aback by how right it felt. "Had I not talked your ear off at the toy store, you might have made it to you ex-wife's house before the storm got too bad… and if you hadn't, you might have beat me here."

He blinks and a slow grin edges onto his lips. "For all you know, I'm a serial killer."

"For all you know, I'm the serial killer."

He laughs and shakes his head, shifting awkwardly on feet as he turns and looks to the commons area where an old and obviously lumpy couch sits. "I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience."

"We could always pull one of the rollaway beds in," Granny tells him as her eyes shift between them. "And we could knock half the cost from your bill."

"Well?" Regina asks, looking to him. "If you're willing to risk it, so am I."

"This is crazy."

"I know," she says, nodding as grin edges onto her lips. "But it's not fair that I got the last room _and_ the last nerf gun." She shrugs and her grin widens as he chuckles softly and shakes his head. "Besides, maybe the universe is trying to tell me something?"

"Oh? And what's that?"

She shrugs. "I don't know yet. I'm not very good at listening."

At that, he laughs and looks between the the three of them–and then, he nods. She feels a tingly sensation travel up her spine and her heartbeat quickens. "Alright," he murmurs. "If you're _sure_ you don't mind."

"I don't."

"I snore, or so my ex-wife told me."

"I have insomnia. I wouldn't sleep anway."

He laughs again and grabs his bag, taking a few long strides toward her as he extends hand. "I'm Robin–Robin Locksley."

"Regina Mills," she says, looking down at his hand as she shakes it–and when looks back up and her eyes meet his, she feels her stomach flutter.

He watches as she sets her shopping bag down on the bed, then turns awkwardly to him and grins.

They both start to say something, but stop, waiting for the other to speak and then when neither does, they both chuckle uncomfortably. He's not quite sure what to say from her, other than thank you–and somehow, that seems inadequate. And it doesn't make for much of a prolonged conversation.

"Knock, knock," Granny calls as she knocks on the door before opening it and pushing in the promised rollaway bed–and unknowingly sparing them a few moments of discomfort. "Sorry it took so long," she tells him. "Had to pull it out of storage. I can't tell you the last time we were booked to capacity."

"Thank you," he murmurs as he turns toward the bed. "I appreciate you going to the trouble for me."

"Let me know if you need anything else. You should have enough towels and soap and such, and there's a room service menu inside of the nightstand. The kitchen's open til midnight."

"Thank you," he says again. "We will."

And as soon as she came, she leaves–and once more, he and Regina are left alone together.

"I, um… I need to go down to my car," she tells him, somewhat abruptly as she fishes her keys from her purse. "I've got a suitcase in my trunk and–"

"Let me go," he interjects. "It's the least I can do."

She laughs a little and shakes her head. "Remember, I _owed_ you the favor."

"I'm better equipped."

"I'm sorry?"

His eyes fall to her feet and he nods. "Those shoes aren't very… practical, not in this sort of weather."

"I'll only be a minute and–"

"And it only takes a minute in weather like this to catch pneumonia."

A grin twists onto her lips and a bit reluctantly, she hands him her keys. "It's, um, the navy blue one. The red one can stay in the trunk. It's got some extra things I packed for my son."

He nods. "Your son has a thing for red."

Her eyes narrow and her head tips to the side. "Yes," she says, her voice full of amazement as she stares at him. "It's his favorite color. How did you know?"

"Red suitcase. Nerf Nemesis Blaster in red," he tells her, shrugging his shoulders. "Call it an educated guess." A grin draws onto her lips, but she doesn't say anything–and he flips her keys into his palm. "I'll be back in a few minutes with a _navy, not red_ , suitcase."

She nods and laughs softly as he passes–and as he reaches for the door, he looks back and watches as she pulls her phone from her pocket and sighs before tossing it onto the bed and and turning toward the window. For a moment, he lingers there, wondering what that was about. There's something so familiar about the way her shoulders slump forward and the way her jaw tenses–and he's reminded of the string of days after he found out about Marian's affair when all he wanted to do was avoid her.

He starts down the hall, remembering how desperate she was at the toy store. She hadn't mentioned her son's father, but he finds himself wondering about him, and wondering if she's in a similar position as he was in a year before–and he has to remind himself that it's not his place to ask or even to wonder.

He shives as he steps out into the snow and groans. It's higher than it was when he arrived, not even a half an hour before and the flakes are still falling. There's more than an inch on his windshield and as he presses the fob attached to her keys, he can barely see her car, only two yellow lights streaming out of a mound of snow. Truding toward the car, he pops the hood and sighs when it doesn't open, requiring him to clear the snow off before even being able to open it. He's careful not to get snow in her trunk and the first thing he sees is the bright red suitcase belonging to her son. There's a Captain America keychain attached to it and a big Captain America patch sewn into the center–and for some reason, those details make him smile.

He grabs her suitcase and then slams the trunk closed, quickly making his way back into the little inn, and up to the room they're sharing.

"We.. have a slight problem," she tells him, no sooner than he's entered the room–and he looks from her to the roll out bed. "I, um, thought I'd set up the bed and… well…" She sighs. "Try to open it." Blinking, he sets down the suitcase and moves toward her, and as he places his hands on either side of the bed, she takes a step back. His brow furrows as he pushes the bed open and then, without warning, the bed snaps shut. "See?"

"Oh, that's… certainly a problem."

"Yeah…"

He sighs and looks around the room, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, a bit uncomfortably as his eyes fall to a narrow, antique-style arm chair. "I could… sleep there and prop my feet up on this Venus Fly Trap of a bed."

"That doesn't seem very comfortable."

"It'll be more comfortable than getting folded up in this thing," he tells her, pushing at the rollaway bed. "Besides, it's just for a night."

She hesitates and looks to the bed. "We could… draw straws or something?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he says. "Besides, I've slept on worse."

"That chair looks like it would be small for my nine year old."

"It'll be fine," he says with a dismissive wave. "And if it's not, there's always the floor."

"And in the morning you'll wake up with a neck ache."

"I think I have some Advil in my truck and…"

"You should take half the bed."

For a moment, he doesn't reply. Instead, he just stares at her–this woman he's known for maybe an hour. "You think I should… sleep on the bed… with you."

"It's a King size bed, and I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing that you were _on the floor_ and I had that whole bed to myself."

An awkward little grin twists into his lips and he shifts. "I thought you were an insomniac who wouldn't be sleeping anyway."

"More reason for you to sleep on the bed."

"I don't know…"

She sighs. "We're both adults, right?" She pauses as if waiting for him to reply, and he finds himself nodding–and maybe, even agreeing. "I'll stay on my half of the bed and you'll stay on your half of the bed. It'll be fine."

Again, he hesitates–but he has to admit, it's the best option and the mere idea of driving for an hour on snow-covered roads with a neckache or a sore back makes him miserable. "You're… sure about this?"

"Positive."

His eyes narrow as he looks to the bed–a bed that could easily fit four people. "Well, if you're sure and–"

"I am," she says decisively.

"Then, I guess it's settled," he murmurs as he shove his hands into his pockets–and then, another awkward silence falls between them as they both stare at the bed–and he wonders if, despite her instance, she's just as uncomfortable about this whole situation as he is. "Um, maybe we could… uh… find a movie or something?"

She nods. "Sure, pick whatever you want. I'm just going to step into the bathroom and call my son. He's probably wondering where I am." A slight grin pulls onto her lips at the mention of her son. "I should have been there hours ago."

"He's… at your mother's?"

Regina nods again and smiles. "You've got a good memory."

"I pay attention."

"That's… nice," she murmurs as she reaches for her phone. "I don't care what you pick–just nothing with too many explosions."

Laughing, he nods and watches her disappear into the bathroom–she's clearly the mother of a son, he thinks of himself as he grabs the remote from the dresser and flops back onto the bed. His eyes close momentarily as he settles back against the pillows on what he's claimed as his side of the bed.

He stretches out and opens his eyes, flicking on the TV. His brows arch when he realize there are only five channels. "I hope she's not paying top dollar for this room," he murmurs to himself. "What kind of hotel doesn't have cable?" He blinks few times as he flicks through the channels–and when the hour mark strikes on the clock, he grins when the opening credits of _Home Alone_ start to play.

"Be good, okay," Regina says, stepping out of the bathroom. "Remember to brush your teeth and don't stay up _too late_." There's a pause and he looks over at her, watching as she smiles warmly–smiling in a way he hasn't seen before, smiling in a way that makes her seem softer. "I love you, Henry," she says as she sits down on the edge of the bed. "Oh–um–actually, no. I can't talk to him. My phone's about to die and I left my charger in the car." Robin blinks as he looks from Regina to her charger sitting on top of her purse. "I'll call you tomorrow once I charge my phone and _hopefully_ I see you tomorrow, too." Again, there's a pause, but this time, it's much shorter and again, that soft smile forms on her lips. "Love you, too," she says before dropping down her phone and looking to the TV. "Is this _Home Alone_?"

"It is."

"This is my son's _favorite_ movie. We watch it at least five times during the holidays."

"It's my son's favorite, too," Robin says, chuckling softly. "The first time he saw it, he decided to reenact the bathroom scene–you know–when Kevin puts on the aftershave."

"Did he scream?"

"Like he was being tortured." Regina laughs out and he can't help but smile–and then, he clears his throat. "We could… order room service. Are you hungry?"

"A little…"

"How perfect, a commercial already," he says chuckling a bit awkwardly as he reaches for the menu in the nightstand. "Let's see…"

"Maybe something light, like popcorn?"

"An excellent selection to go with our movie," he says, dropping the menu down into his lap as he reaches for the phone–and he watches the way she stares off, her eyes falling to the charger sitting atop her purse. She grimaces a little and shakes her head, looking over at him–and again, he finds himself wanting to ask a question he has no right to ask. So instead, he looks away and presses the number for room service.

Ten minutes later, their popcorn arrives–piping hot and in a large ceramic bowl. He settles back onto the bed beside her and places the bowl between them–and as he reaches for a handful, he catches a glimpse of her, mouthing the words along with the characters. His first impression of her, when he'd seen her standing at the end of the aisle at the toy store, looking stressed out and near panic, he'd thought she was strikingly beautiful. As she'd neared him then, he couldn't help but notice how deep her eyes were and momentarily, as she explained her plight, he'd gotten lost in them–and now that she was sitting beside him, he saw another side of her–and in that moment, as she laughed softly to herself and mouthed the lines to her son's favorite holiday movie, he couldn't help but find her absolutely adorable.

Regina yawns as her eyes flutter open–and she grimaces at the bright glare from the window. Snow is piled on the sill and the panes are frosted, and the sunlight radiates off of them. She stretches out her arms and pulls herself up, batting the back of her hand over her eyes. Her cell phone buzzes and she reaches blindly for it, patting her hand on the night stand until her fingers curl around the phone–and she sighs as she scrolls through a series of texts from Graham. A smile edges onto her lips as she finds one from Henry and she swipes her finger across the screen, opening that one and ignoring the others.

She sighs at a picture of her mother's snow-covered backyard and she can practically feel Henry's excitement over waking up to his own personal winter wonderland.

Dropping the phone down onto the blanket, she yawns again and pushes the blanket away from her lap, groaning softly as the cool air hits her–and then, she notices Robin–a practical stranger–laying in bed beside her, still sound asleep. A smile edges onto her lips and she finds herself wondering how he's comfortable like that–something she'd often wondered about Henry when he was a toddler, his body folded and contorted into the strangest positions as he slept.

A little smile edges onto her lips and she shakes her head. One knee is bent and over the top of the blanket and one arm is stretched out above his head and the other dangles off the side of the bed; his lips are parted and a soft and low, rumbling snore escapes him.

When she gets up the bed creaks and she grimaces as she turns back to look at Robin–but he doesn't seem to have noticed–and she can't help but think there's something endearing about him in that moment.

Her phone buzzes again and she looks away, feeling strangely guilty as she looks down at yet another text from Graham–and instead of opening up his text, she opens up the weather app, mutters a few choice expletives under her breath at the sight of the snowflake underneath the next five days. She tosses her phone down on the bed and rolls her eyes, quickly moving toward the window as if needing more proof than a little snowflake icon can provide.

Narrowing her eyes, she stares out at the parking lot, barely able to make out the outline of her car. "Damn it," she mutters as she watches thick flakes flutter down onto the thick blanket of white snow that covers everything. "I am _never_ getting out of here."

"Hmm?"

"Oh," she breathes out as she turns away from the window to find that Robin's rolled onto his side. He blinks groggily as she grimaces. "Did I wake you?" Her eyes widen a little. "Did I hit you with my phone?"

"No… as for your phone, I don't know what you're talking about," he murmurs. "Did I wake _you_ … you know… with the snoring?"

"No," she replies, chuckling softly. "I'm an insomniac and don't sleep, remember?"

"Ahh, that's right…"

He grins and she feels her cheeks flushing with warmth–and then with embarrassment–as she looks away. "It's, uh, really coming down out there."

"Still?"

"Yeah, I can't even see my car. Just… a little hill where it used to be."

He sighs and rolls onto his back–and again she finds herself smiling, though she really doesn't know why. "I should call Henry," she says. "But there's not a chance in hell he's awake yet."

"What time is it?"

"Just after eight."

"No," he murmurs, laughing softly to himself. "There's no way your nine year old is up at eight in the morning on Christmas Break."

"Are you, um… are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"I think breakfast has already started…"

He grins and sits up and for a split second there seems to be a glimmer of excitement that flashes in his eyes. "Would you like to join me for breakfast? It'll be my treat to repay you for your kindness."

Her eyes narrow. "We're going to spend the rest of our time together in a vicious cycle of trying to repay each other, aren't we?"

"Seems like it… and… I really hate eating alone in public."

She laughs a little and shakes her head. "Well, then, I suppose it's the _least_ that I could do."

Regina watches as he gets out of bed and pulls open his duffle bag that sits on the arm chair. He pulls out a green thermal and a pair of jeans, and a little plaid bag of what she assumes are toiletries. "Do you need the bathroom?" He asks, looking up at her as he pulls the zipper on the bag closed. "I won't be long, but–"

"No, no. Go ahead," she says easily as she looks around, trying to remember where she put her suitcase. "I can change out here and–"

"I'll knock before I come back out… in case you're not ready yet."

"Okay," she replied, nodding as a tight and awkward smile stretches over her lips. "Sounds like a plan."

Clearing his throat, he nods and disappears into the bathroom–and a moment later, she hears the water running. Rounding the bed, she spots her suitcase and chooses a cream colored sweater and a pair of dark jeans. She changes quickly and tucks her pajamas back into her suitcase, then chooses a large claw hair clip and twists her hair up at the back of her head. She glances quickly in the mirror, plucking out a few strands before grabbing her makeup bag and pulling it open. She plucks out a blender and her foundation, dabbing it on quickly as she reaches for a palate of blush and a brush. She chooses a favorite and swipes it across her cheeks before dropping the brush back into the bag, grabbing her mascara as she does. She hears the water turn off and then as she's putting on the mascara, she hears Robin clear his throat–and just as the bathroom door opens, she drops her mascara back into the back and zips it back up.

"You did… all of that and… I couldn't even manage to shave."

She laughs as she looks at him looking at her through the mirror. "I like the scruff," she tells him, turning away from the mirror and tossing her makeup bag into her suitcase. "It suits you."

"My ex hated it."

"Well, I like it," she tells him, shrugging her shoulders as his brows arch. "Not that my opinion matters."

An awkward silence falls between them and she shuffles past him, slipping on a pair of black flats and grabbing her toothbrush. She disappears into the bathroom, quickly brushing her teeth–and surveying the items he's left lined up on the counter. She grins softly as she reaches for a tube of face soap labeled with a green font and a pine tree–and when she opens the top, the crisp scent of pine overwhelms her senses, and though she's never been an outdoorsy kind of girl, there's something oddly soothing about it.

After a few minutes, she rejoins him in the room, and together, they walk down to the dining room. They're not alone–Granny sits behind the front desk and Ruby carries out a crock of orange juice, setting it on the table of a family at a nearby table. There are other guests, too–an older couple drinking coffee seated by the window, two women seated on the small couch, chatting over bagels and cream cheese, and another couple scanning the menu.

"Sit wherever you want," Ruby calls to them. "The menus are on the table, and I'll be back in a few minutes with some coffee and juice."

They select a little table over by the fireplace and for a few minutes, sit quietly reading over the menu.

"Henry would _love_ the stuffed french toast," she murmurs as she flips the page on the menu. "He loves anything with strawberries, though."

"Because they're red?"

She brightens as she looks up over the menu. "In part."

"Roland would be _all_ over the nutella oatmeal with berries," Robin tells her. "He's on a kick where he'll only eat things without complaint if they can be considered desserts." He pauses, sighing as he looks back to the menu. "Or, at least he was the last time I saw him."

"When was that?"

"This summer," he murmurs. "He came to stay with me for a couple of weeks."

"Wow, this summer…"

Robin nods. "It's been… quite an adjustment."

"I can't even imagine."

"I miss him… I miss him all of the time."

There's something about the way he says that that makes her heart ache and there's something incredibly endearing about the way he misses his son–something she wishes she could say about Henry's father. Taking a breath, she swallows hard, pushing away thoughts of Leopold and their disastrous marriage and messy divorce.

"How long will you be spending with him when you eventually get to your ex-wife's?"

"A week," he sighs. "It's not long enough, but beggars can't be choosers."

"She has full custody?"

"Technically," he begins, looking up from the menu. "No, she doesn't. But, when she remarried, her wife got a job in Hartford and…" He shrugs. "What was I supposed to do? Tell her not to take the job?"

"That must have been hard."

He nods. "The hardest thing I've ever done."

"How old did you say he was?"

"Six."

"Ah…"

"He'll be seven in April."

"A spring baby," she says with a smile. "Does your ex realize how lucky she is?"

Robin's head tips to the side. "I'm… not sure?"

A grin pulls onto her lips. "I spent the first year or so of my marriage trying to get pregnant, and everyone always told me I wanted to have my baby in the spring or in the fall or in the winter–any time other than summer."

He chuckles softly and his head tips to the side. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Apparently, being pregnant in the summer is miserable and giving birth is hard enough without record-breaking heat… or so I'm told."

"You say _apparently_ , so I assume Henry isn't a summer baby, then?"

"Oh he is," she murmurs as Robin's eyes narrow, both in confusion and curiosity. "But _that's_ another story for another time." She looks back to him. "When did you divorce?"

"Last year."

"And how did your son take it?" She pauses. "I just… when my ex-husband and I divorced, Henry was so little. He was only four, but it was so hard on him."

"It was hard for Roland, too," Robin tells her. "But when his mom and I first split up, I was around a lot. I picked him up from school and helped him with his homework and, then I'd bring him back to Marian's and tuck him in. It… was an okay system." He shrugs. "It wasn't at all what I wanted, but… it worked."

"It sounds like you and your ex get along."

"We do… for the most part." He sighs. "I think Mulan getting that job in–"

"I'm sorry… what?"

Robin blinks. "What?"

"Your ex-wife's new wife is named… Mulan," Regina says slowly as if to emphasize her disbelief. "As in… the Disney princess?"

Robin's eyes roll. "Yeah. Exactly."

"That's…" Her voice halts and she hesitates, laughing a little as she shakes her head. "I don't know what that is."

"My son thinks it's…. unbelievably cool." He sighs as he looks to the menu. "He likes to tell his friends that his stepmother is a _warrior_ , and with a name like _Mulan_ , none of his friends doubt it."

"I assume it's not nearly as cool to you."

"No, not it's not."

Her phone buzzes in its place on the tables and she bristles as she flips it over, ignoring yet another text from Graham. She feels a little pang of guilt–she should reply, at least in one and she knows that it's not fair to rely on Henry to relay information to him. He's likely concerned and she probably owes him an explanation–yet the thought of it fills her with dread and the little voice at the back of her head tells her their relationship has probably run its course.

"Well," Robin says, clearing is throat. "That got oddly deep and personal."

"Sorry about that. I shouldn't have–"

"I volunteered the information."

"I don't know how you do it," she admits, her thoughts suddenly drifting off into what might have been had Leopold put up a fight for Henry. There'd been a time when that detail had made her angry–and she suspected that sentiment would one day return–but once she'd settled into a life without him, her anger had faded to indifference. "I couldn't imagine sharing my son. I don't know if I could."

"So, I take it you're divorced?" Her brow arches and he smiles. "Since we're getting deep and personal."

"Fair enough," she says, dropping down her menu. "Yes. I am divorced."

He hesitates for a moment and his eyes fall to her phone. "So, is that who you're avoiding? Your ex-husband?"

"Oh… um, no. He's not in the picture anymore."

"I'm sorry," he's quick to say. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine. I asked about your divorce first. It's only fair that you ask me about mine."

Another silence falls between them and they turn their attention to their menus–pretending to be completely engrossed in the choice of breakfast foods. Half-heartedly she debates between two types of omelets, wondering if either can be made with egg-whites. She looks up from the menu, eyeing Robin and watching as he glances down the column of choices–and she finds herself grinning.

"Sorry it took so long," Ruby says as she sets a crock of orange juice in the center of the table–and Regina flinches as if she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. "There was a small disaster in the kitchen."

"We barely noticed a delay," Robin says easily as he grins at Ruby. "I hope everything's alright."

Sighing, Ruby lifts her hand, showing them two bandaged fingers. "Just a nasty little steam burn."

"Ouch.."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Are you ready to order?"

"I am," Robin says nodding as he looks from Ruby to Regina. "Are you?"

"I… can be," she murmurs as she narrows her eyes at menu. Robin orders fried eggs, bacon and hashbrowns–and a grin edges onto her lips when he orders apple butter with his toast. And then, she feels Ruby's gaze shift to her. "I'll have the French toast," she says, the choice surprising herself. "With apples."

"You got it," Ruby says, as she scribbles the order onto her notepad. "Oh, and before I forget," she murmurs, reaching into her apron pocket and pulling out a half slip of paper. "My grandmother decided, since we're all snowed in, she'd arrange some activities for guests."

"Oh…"

"I know. It's lame, but I figured I'd offer."

"Thank you," Robin says, taking the list and scanning it, his brow arching when he gets halfway down the list–and when Regina's phone buzzes on the table, Robin's eyes shift from the list to her phone and then to her. "Are you… just going to ignore that?"

"I am," she says decisively. "I don't recognize the number and, it's probably some carpet cleaning service or someone offering to clean the gutters I don't have." He smiles and nods, but she can tell he doesn't believe her–yet she persists in the lie. "And if it's anything important, I'm sure whoever will leave a message."

"So, it's… not the person you've been avoiding since at least last night?"

A smile twists onto her lips–and though she tries, she can't seem to bring herself to be annoyed by his question. In fact, there's something about the way he asks it, something about the tone of his voice and when way his soft eyes meet hers, that make her _want_ to answer it.

But she doesn't.

Not yet.

"It's really not important," she says, looking away and reaching for the list of activities Ruby left for them and staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Ooh, at eleven we could make pinecone ornaments."

For a moment, he doesn't reply–and quickly, she looks up at him from over the top of the list–and when his eyes meet hers, she looks back to the list. "I do like a good pinecone," he tells her, chuckling softly. "What else is on the list?"

"Holiday trivia."

"Will there be beer?"

"Doesn't say."

Robin sighs dramatically and she can't help but look up and laugh. "Well, I can't do trivia if I'm not drunk, so that's a definite no."

"Too bad. I'm sure it'll be thrilling."

He grins and reaches for the crock of orange juice–and she catches herself looking up at him again, completely caught off guard by the fluttering in her stomach and the smile that edges onto her lips. There's something charming about him, she decides–and for whatever reason, it doesn't come off as cliche or as if he's trying too hard, but instead seems genuine.

And she can't remember the last time a man made her feel something _genuine_.

Dropping his phone onto his chest, Robin lays back against the pillows and presses his eyes shut.

Roland is only six–but _damn_ , that hurt.

After breakfast he and Regina had gone back up to their room to call their sons. She'd been anxious about it–clearly missing Henry and not used to not regularly talking to him–and he always missed Roland. She'd tucked herself away in the bathroom and he could hear the echoes of her conversation–and though he wasn't trying to eavesdrop, he could hear bits and pieces of her conversation. From what he'd pieced together, Henry slept in and someone–maybe his grandmother–had made him chocolate chip pancakes and allowed him to eat on the couch and watch cartoons. And later that afternoon, Henry was planning on building a snowman–he'd even found an old hat and scarf in the attic–perhaps belonging to his grandfather–and this snowman promised to put Frosty to shame.

Regina's voice was different when she spoke to her son–it was softer, sometimes sounding almost melodious–and though she was doing her best to sound happy and content with how this holiday seemed to be sorting itself out, he could hear the sadness in her voice, and when she paused to listen to her son, he could almost sense that Henry, too, was putting on a front.

It was so different than his phone call to Roland–who hadn't spent more than a few minutes talking to him on the phone and didn't seem at all concerned that his father might not be there for Christmas.

Not when Spiderman had taken over his morning.

Which might have been for the best–because he was sure that the costume and mask he'd bought for his son wouldn't hold a candle to what Marian and Mulan had gotten him. It'd been a surprise the night before–and while they'd meant to wait until Christmas, Marian's parents came to visit and took Roland out for dinner at their hotel. He'd spent the evening swimming in a heated pool and eating appetizers and candy and drinking soda–things none of his parents would ever let him do–and when they'd taken him up to their room to change into dry clothes, he'd fallen asleep on the bed and they didn't have the heart to wake him. And all of this left Marian and Mulan alone for the night–and they'd decided to surprise him that morning with one of his biggest Christmas presents–a Spiderman bedroom.

There were–according to Roland and Marian–a comforter and matching sheets and pillow cases and a plush pillow in the shape of a spider web. They'd bought a spiderman lamp and posters for the walls, pencil holders and an alarm clock for his desk, and some sort of bean bag chair that he could sit in to read or watch TV or play his video games. And when Roland came in, he's been over the moon excited–and all he'd told Robin when he called was that Mulan wrote to Santa and asked him to come by a few days early, so his room could be done while he was out. No doubt, she'd painted a picture of Santa personally delivering the items and little elves rushing around the room to put it all together. Then, the kicker had come when Roland realized–while Robin was on the phone–that _Santa_ had also left behind a DVD of Spiderman cartoons, and then, the conversation was over.

Superheroes were a new thing in Roland's world–and he'd taken a particular liking to Spiderman, pouring over picture books and comics that he couldn't read on his own–and while Robin had initially been excited to have a common interest with his son, it now felt like just another part of his son's life that he was missing out on.

Swallowing hard, he listens as Regina's laugh rings out–such a genuine reaction to something that Henry said–and his chest tightens. He breathes out slowly, and before his thoughts can wander he hears her voice hitch. And then, _Oh, Henry–I–I can't someone's at the door_. There's a pause and he can feel the tension in her voice before a regretful, _Tell him I'll text him later–or better yet, hopefully I won't have to because I'll be at grandma's and we can talk in person_. Whatever Henry says makes her laugh again and she tells him that she loves him–and then, she hangs up.

Robin turns his head toward the bathroom, waiting for her to come out–but she doesn't. She sits there for a few minutes in silence–and he can almost feel her guilt.

He pulls himself up onto his elbows and just as he's about to call her name, she comes out of the bathroom, putting on a smile.

"Sorry that took so long."

"Don't apologize," he's quick to say, watching as she rounds the bed and sits down in the armchair. "How's Henry?"

"He misses me, but he's good. My mother is–well–her _staff_ is making sure he has a good time."

His brows arch. "Staff."

"Yes, she's pretentious enough to think she needs a housekeeper, a cook, _and_ –get this–a butler."

"A butler… those still exist?"

"Apparently," she sighs. "I think he's more of a… well…" Her brows arch as she looks to Robin. "I'm sure he does much more for her than _answer the door_." She laughs softly and shakes her head. "I think she's re-titled him as her _personal_ assistant."

"I see…"

She sighs and shrugs. "They're good to Henry, so I won't complain about them."

"Understandably."

She nods and takes a breath. "So, how's Roland?"

His jaw tightens, but he smiles, nonetheless. "Loving life," he says in a voice more curt than he'd wanted it to be–after all, none of this is her fault. Her eyes widen a little and he sighs. "Marian and Mulan surprised Roland with one of his Christmas presents early."

"Oh?"

"And that Christmas present was a Spiderman bedroom."

"Oh, wow…"

"Which will certainly put my lame gift to shame."

"I doubt–"

"You didn't hear him."

"Robin," she says as she gets up and moves to the foot of the bed, sitting on the same side near his feet. "Just because they got him something amazing doesn't mean he won't enjoy what you got him." A grin curls up onto her lips as he eyes her skeptically. "I _saw_ your shopping cart, remember? Roland is going to have an _amazing_ Christmas and he's going to _love_ the things you got for him."

"I got him a costume and a mask."

"And a hundred other things."

He hesitates for a minute–he realizes how petty he sounds. "He didn't even want to talk to me."

"He was probably just excited. Call back tonight." She shakes her head and rests her hand on his ankle, giving it a soft squeeze that somehow makes his mouth feel dry. "Once, I took Henry to Coney Island for his birthday and a _literal stranger_ gave him a Spongebob stuffed toy because he told him it was his birthday and he was so obsessed with it, he didn't even want to open his _actual_ presents." She chuckles and rolls her eyes. "It took _two_ days for him to realize he never opened his presents."

He nods. "But this isn't an isolated thing. I didn't even know he liked Spiderman until a week ago." Sighing, he looks away and his throat tightens. "I… I'm not a part of his life anymore."

"That's not true." Swallowing hard, he looks back to her and nods–he realizes how petty he sounds and he realizes he's probably blowing this whole thing way out of proportion. His lips part to try to explain it–but before he can find his words, her phone buzzes loudly from her pocket and she tenses. He can't help the way she tries–and fails–to act causal and hide the way she grimaces when she reads the text, and then she tucks the phone back into her pocket and tries to put on a smile. "I… shouldn't say this, but…" He sighs. "I'm not sure what it is that makes me feel like I can get so personal with you after only knowing you a matter of hours, but–"

"It's my fault," she says, chuckling to herself as she rolls her eyes. "It's what I get for inviting you to share my bed after only knowing you for a matter of… not even hours yet."

"Or maybe it's because we're not much more than stranger and when the snow clears, we'll likely never see each other again and what we say has no consequence." His voice trails off and her eyes meet his–and the sense of sadness he feels at that prospect takes him by surprise–but what surprises him even more, it seems to make her sad, too. He looks away and takes a breath, completely aware that he's overstepping his bounds. "I just… " He sighs. "You don't have to stay with him just because he seems to be a nice guy."

"What?"

"I assume you're dodging a boyfriend."

For a moment, she hesitates–and then she nods. "Graham–and he _is_ a nice guy."

"Right, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

Her jaw tightens. "Doesn't it? I mean, he's enduring my mother and taking care of my son and–" She sighs. "He's always been there for me and Henry."

"And that's wonderful, but take it from a self-described nice guy–you're not doing him any favors by keeping him around because of some sense of obligation." He pauses and takes a breath. "And you're not doing yourself any favors either."

"How would you know?"

"I've been there," he tells her simply, thinking of Marian. "I married my best friend and for awhile, it worked out. Until she fell in love with someone else and… stayed with me because she felt like she owed it to me and our son."

"Right…"

"How long have you and Graham been together?"

She looks up. "Five years or so." She sighs. "We just sort of… ended up together. I don't really remember." It's not the start of an epic love story, that's for sure–and he doesn't want to project his own feelings and history onto her, but it feels oddly similar. "There was never really… that spark. I kept waiting for it, but…"

"It never came."

"Exactly."

"But you figure it was better than being alone?"

She nods and shrugs. "Selfishly, I… like that I have someone who can pick Henry up from school if I have to work late or a meeting runs over."

"Being alone is… hard."

"Harder when you have a child… and have to be his everything." Her eyes press closed. "I'm not complaining. I _love_ Henry more than I can even say, but it's–"

"Hard," he says again. "You never get so much as a few hours off. It's easier with a partner."

"I should have ended it a long time ago." Her eyes open, but she looks away and in them, he can see the hint of a glare–a glare that looks a lot like tears–and he can tell there's something she's not saying. And when her words don't come, he doesn't press her. Instead, he just sits there and waits–and then, finally, she takes a long breath and looks back at him. "Maybe we should… see what's on TV. Maybe there's a movie or something?"

He shakes his head and sighs as he reaches for the remote. "That's… not going to happen," he tells her a bit regretfully as he clicks on the TV and looks to the black and gray staticy screen. "It's even snowing in there."

"Damn it."

Again, he sighs and turns off the TV. "Maybe we could… get out of here for a little bit."

She blinks. "Ang go where? In case you haven't noticed, there's two feet of snow on the ground and we're snowed in."

He nods, considering for a moment. "I've got some extra boots and some insulated ice fishing pants in my truck. I _think_ I've got two pairs."

"You just… have ice-fishing pants in your truck."

He laughs. "A friend of mine and I went ice-fishing last week… to commemorate my anniversary or forget about it or… something." He shrugs. "Whatever we were doing it involved a lot of beer and a lot of fishing."

A grin pulls onto his lips as her lip catches between her teeth–she's considering it. "And… do these boots and pants smell like fish."

"No. I had them cleaned, I just… left them in the back of my truck." He shrugs. "I'm in the process of turning Marian's office into a… something else and was hoping to get a cabinet or something for my fishing gear."

"You… really want to trudge out in this?"

"It's something to do."

"Fair enough."

"Because I don't know about you, but I'm going a little stir-crazy all cooped up in here and I think the cold air might do me some good."

"Yeah," she agrees. "That might be nice."

Pulling himself up, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Great, I'll run down to my truck and–if I'm not back in ten minutes, you might want to send out a search party."

At that, she laughs and she watches as he tugs on his boots, hastily lacing them up. He got outside and immediately is struck by the cold air–but nonetheless, when he reaches his truck, the door pulls open and he reaches for the ice-fishing pants and the extra pair of boots. He glances up and he can see her watching from the window, chuckling and shaking her head at him–and he feels a smile pull onto his lips as he slam the door shut, ignoring the amount of snow that was forced into his backseat as he trudges forward, back toward the inn.

He's breathless by the time he reaches their room–and he laughs out at the sight of her in his fishing pants and boots. All of it is too big for her and it looks so awkward when paired with her woolen pea coat and cashmere scarf and leather gloves–and he can't help but think how small and cute she looks.

He reminds her that they don't have to go out, telling her how difficult it is to walk in the snow, but she dismisses it, insisting that she could use the work out.

They go around back, hiking through the snow–and by the time they reach a little wooden swing, they're breathless and the inn has all but disappeared in the snowy distance. They play Twenty Questions as they go, and both keep it light–an intentional move on his part and likely on hers–and they tell each other about their favorite colors and foods, movies they like to watch on rainy days, stores they like to shop at, holidays they enjoy most, and other completely random and useless tidbits of information about themselves.

He tries to clear off the swing, but slips and she offers him a hand. Her foot slides on a patch of ice and he finds himself reaching for her as they both wobble and slide–and somehow, they find themselves still standing upright, and standing chest-to-chest. She's holding onto his arm with one hand as the other hovers behind herself, still ready to brace herself for a fall–and his hands are holding onto her hips, holding her up against him.

And in that moment, he really wants to kiss her.

His heart beats wildly as he looks from her eyes to her lips and he starts to lean in, imagining the way her breath will feel on his lips, the way her lips will taste, the way–he stops, not letting himself go any further.

He can't do this.

He can't kiss her, no matter how much he wants to.

"We should, uh… get back," he says, taking a half of a step back as he looks up at the gray sky, watching as bits of snow cascade down as he tries to collect himself. "It's… getting colder, I think."

"Oh, um… yeah. Yeah, we should," she agrees. He thinks there's a hint of disappointment in her voice, but when he looks back to her, she looks away and he can't quite get a read on her. "I, um… I think I saw something about sleet this afternoon and…"

"And it's afternoon," he supplies unnecessarily as her voice trails off.

She takes a step back–again once more, her foot finds the little patch of ice–and without thinking, he reaches for her again, his arm forming around her waist to steady her as hers folds around his back, her fingers clutching to his coat.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, breathlessly as she looks up at him. "I'm not usually so uncoordinated," she murmurs, scoffing at herself in a way that's impossible to not find endearing. "I'm used to running across New York City in stilettos, for god's sake."

"Yeah? Running across _all_ of New York City?"

Her eyes roll. "Shut up." He chuckles softly as she takes a step away from him–and then, she gasps, wincing as her arms go out to steady herself. "Damn it."

"What's wrong?"

"I… I think I twisted my ankle," she mutters as she looks to him–and then looks back toward the inn. "Fuck."

"Can you put pressure on it?"

"Barely…" She sighs, wincing again as she tries. "And we're so fucking far."

He nods. "Well, you won't have to walk it," he tells her–and before she can ask or protest, he reaches down and slides his arm behind her knees, lifting her up. "I've got you."

Her eyes widen a little. "You don't have to carry me."

"What do you suggest them?" He asks, taking the first few steps through the high snow. "That I drag you?"

"No, but I can–"

"No, you can't," he interjects, letting his voice rise of hers. "Besides, it'll take you double the time or more if you hobble along, and by that time, it'll probably be sleeting and you and I would both end up with hypothermia or something." He grins at her. "And, no offense, but we don't know each other well enough to cuddle for warmth."

She laughs. "No, we just know each other well enough to share a bed."

"And you could fit Mount Rushmore between us in that bed."

"That's true," she murmurs as her head falls to his shoulder. "Besides, I'm not really the cuddly type."

He swallows hard as she burrows against him as he trudges along–and he chooses not to point out the irony.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening in their room.

Her foot is elevated on a stack of pillows and Robin does her best to entertain her. They play another round of Twenty Questions, covering everything between whether or not they prefer coffee or tea, Coke or Pepsi, cats or dogs–and other completely useless information that makes him feel like much less of a stranger and more like an old friend, who she's run into after years of separation.

She calls Henry again–purposely calling during dinnertime so that she can leave a voicemail and avoid Graham–and while she does that, Robin goes downstairs for more ice and to place their dinner order. And when he returns, he returns with a deck of cards.

They play a few rounds of Rummy and one disastrous round of poker which leads them to a simpler game of Go Fish, and when they tire of that, he places a bowl at the end of the bed and they take turns tossing the cards into the bowl. She takes the red cards and he takes the black–and she's almost certain that he lets her win, but even then, she relishes in her one victory of the event. And he lets her gloat, not mentioning his many wins at the actual games they played.

There's a loud knock at the door and Granny's voice calls _Room Service_! as Robin scrambles up from the bed to let her in. She wheels in a cart and Regina can't help but notice the way Robin smiles expectantly as he looks from Regina to her covered dish. She starts to reach for it, but Granny pulls a lap tray from her cart and sets it up over her, moving the plates around so they all fit.

She's not used to not doing things for herself and tries not to bristle as the old woman fusses over her–and from the corner of her eye, she can see Robin trying not to laugh at her. She shoots him a quick look, glaring in his direction, before smiling back at Granny and thanking her.

Granny nods and smiles and tells them she hopes that they enjoy, then she disappears in the hall, closing the door behind her.

"You looked like you wanted to throttle her when she started fluffing your pillows," Robin says almost immediately after the door closes. "You looked like Roland's cat does when you try to move her off your pillow so that you can use it."

Her shoulders straighten and her eyes roll. "She's probably just worried I'll sue her."

"I don't think it's like that."

"I know it isn't," she tells him. "I just… I'm not used to that?"

"Used to what?" he asks. "People taking care of you?"

"Exactly," she tells him with a soft nod as she lifts the lid from her plate–and then her breath catches in her chest. "You… you ordered me grilled cheese and…" She lifts the lid from the bowl and looks up at him, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "Tomato soup."

"At some point, you mentioned that it was your favorite comfort food and I figured–"

"You… paid attention."

"Of course I did," he says as if it should be obvious that he would. "And I figured you were in need of some comfort food tonight."

Again, her breath catches in her throat and her jaw tightens as she slowly reaches for her spoon–not since she was a teenager had anyone brought her tomato soup and grilled cheese when she was feeling down or sick or injured–and it overwhelms her that Robin, a man she's known for only a day, would have thought of it.

"Well, thank you," she tells him, dipping her spoon into the soup and breathing in the smell.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," he begins, as he drags the arm chair over to the cart where his food sits, waiting for him. "Granny is having a movie night."

"A movie night…"

"And I thought that, since the satellite or cable or whatever is out, we could go."

"Oh, I…" She sighs, realizing that after they eat, there won't be much left to do. "I guess it'll fill the time."

"My thoughts exactly," he says, gingerly lifting the lid off his own plate to reveal a reuben sandwich, fries and a side of coleslaw–and he catches the way she looks at it, and laughs. "Do you want to try it?"

"What?" No…"

"Your eyes say otherwise."

"I just… don't remember the last time I had fries."

Laughing, Robin cuts a little wedge of the sandwich. "How about you give me a little piece of that grilled cheese and I'll give you a little piece of my reuben and a couple of fries."

She grins and lifts her knife, cutting into the gooey grilled cheese–and her mouth waters. It all looks so good. "Thank you…"

"I'm used to sharing."

She laughs as she offers him a quarter of her sandwich. "Said like a parent."

"Well if the shoe fits…" he murmurs as he sets the wedge of his reuben and the fries on her her plate. "Besides, I like to sample."

She dips a corner of her grilled cheese into her soup and grins as he squeezes some ketchup onto his plate to dip his fries–and when he catches her gaze, he laughs and squirts a tiny bit of ketchup on to her plate for her fries before she can even ask.

As they eat, they speculate the sort of movies Granny might play and settle on the all of the holiday classics–and then, they speculate the types of movies Ruby might try to sub out for them. They find themselves laughing as they finish, and Robin rolls the cart into the hallway outside their door, just as Granny had instructed–and then, he comes back in and helps her up.

Robin's arm folds around her waist as he steadies her–and she groans as she tries to put pressure on her foot, earning an arched eyebrow from him in return. They make their way slowly downstairs to the common room, and to their surprises, the room is relatively crowded.

Granny brightens whens he sees them, rushing forward and ushering them to one of the smaller couches–and the only pair of seats left–as she makes a quip about the loveseat being left for the lovebirds. Ruby's eyes widen and Regina feels her cheeks flush–and though she wonders, she can't quite bring herself to see what Robin's reaction was, instead focusing on settling herself in a way that's comfortable.

"I am _really_ sorry about her," Ruby says as she drags over the ottoman. "She's… well, not much goes on around here and this snow storm is the most exciting thing to happen here in…" She sighs. "Well, in longer than I can remember and she's got this idea that… well, that you two… and the way you ended up sharing a room together… was somehow fate." Regina feels her eyes widen a little as her heart rate picks up, and she hears Robin clear his throat beside her. "And like I said I just… I'm really sorry about her."

"It's, um… it's…" she stammers, suddenly getting the impression that this planned movie night and the seating arrangement was all apart of some setup. "I mean…"

"We appreciate that," Robin says, filling in the words she can't quite find–and again, she finds herself embarrassed. "What movie did she pick, anyway. She never said."

Ruby's eyes roll. " _Serendipity_."

" _Serendipity_ ," Regina repeats. "You mean… the one with the couple who…"

"Are brought together by fate, separate themselves and then… allow fate to bring them back together, years later." She sighs. "Cliche, I know, but… at least she's finally got some movies that aren't on VHS and are only a little more than a decade old."

"That sounds… kind of sweet," Robin says. "The plot of the movie, I mean…"

And despite her discomfort, Regina finds herself smiling at him as she turns to face him. "Well, aren't you a romantic."

He laughs and shrugs. "I've been told that, once or twice."

"Are you a fan of rom-coms and cliche love stories?"

"So what if I am?"

Again, she grins–normally, that detail would be completely ridiculous to her and she'd assume it was the sort of line a man would give simply to make himself seem sensitive or prove he had a soft side, and usually the intention would be to get into her pants. But with him, it comes across as endearing and genuine and it makes her smile as she thinks of him–this rugged, flannel-wearing man who drives a Ford and fishes, curling up on a cold night and watching something like Love, Actually because he enjoys it.

"Popcorn?"

Regina looks up to see Granny holding out a bowl of popcorn. "Hmm?"

"Would you two like some popcorn? It's fresh, not that cheap microwaved kind."

"Yeah, that sounds great," Robin says, accepting the bowl and dropping it down in her lap as he grins over at her–and as he plucks a few pieces from the bowl and pops them into his mouth, the lights dim and the movie starts–and she suddenly her stomach flutters and she feels like she's in high school again, and one of her friends has arranged a movie night and invited the boy she likes.

As the movie plays, she finds herself lost in thought–thinking too deeply about something she'd normally dismiss and chalk up to coincidence, something she'd usually scoff at as she rolled her eyes. But as she watches John Cusack's character picking up a copy of _Love in the Time of Cholera_ and sighing wistfully when Kate Beckinsale's character's name isn't written in the pages, she finds herself wondering if _this_ is fate–if she and Robin were fated to be together this weekend.

It's stupid, and she knows it–but she can't quite dismiss it.

She can't stop thinking about the storm and how much she'd been dreading spending a holiday with Graham at her mothers, and how she'd been debating for years now whether or not she should call it quits with him, but ultimately never did because she never felt like she had a good enough reason. After all, no one found that great, earth-shattering sort of love twice in one lifetime–and she was probably just expecting too much. It wasn't Graham, it was her and she needed to get over herself–or at least that's what she'd told herself whenever she decided not to break up with him.

She'd ignored all those early signs that things just weren't right between them–she told herself she needed more time, that she could learn to love him, that she was crazy not to. And always, she found herself thinking of Daniel and instead of remembering the way she felt about him and the way he made her feel about herself, and she found herself thinking that those feelings could never be recreated–and maybe, they shouldn't be. That's what led her to accept Leopold's proposal–and had he not tired of her, they'd probably still be married–and it was what kept her in a loveless relationship with Graham. The only thing she felt when she was with him was dull sense of guilt and a definite sense of complacency–and that he _should_ be good enough.

Yet, with Robin… everything felt so different.

He made her smile and laugh, and she felt so comfortable in his presence. She didn't feel like she was going to let him down and she didn't have to worry about hiding her feeling when he let her down–she was herself, and she'd almost forgotten what that was like.

And earlier that day, when she'd slipped on the ice and he'd caught her and he'd her close against him, she'd found herself wishing that he'd kiss her–and she didn't remember the last time she'd wanted that.

Her breath catches in her throat and she's brought back into the present moment when his head falls to her shoulder–and slowly, she turns to look. A smile draws onto her lips–he's asleep, eyes closed and mouth open–and she finds herself turning into him a little, resting her head atop his. She breathes him in, enjoying the soft scent of pine and she makes no attempt to move him as she watches the rest of the movie.

When the credits show on the screen, she sighs as she watches Granny flick on the lights–she's not quite ready for this to be over. She feels Robin stir and for a moment, he cuddles into her side, his head nuzzling her shoulder and it takes everything in her not to turn–for an all too brief moment, though, she lets herself daydream, allowing herself to imagine turning to face him as her hand sweeps up over his stubbly cheek and into his hair. She imagines his smiling groggily up at her, his blue eyes foggy with sleep, and how his smile would brighten as she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his as her lips found his, kissing him softly and lazily as they laid together.

"Er, sorry. I, um… I didn't realize that I'd… um… fallen asleep."

"It's okay," she tells him, sighing as he lifts his head. "I'm glad I could serve as a pillow."

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, he nods–and tries to smile charmingly, but instead just looks goofy. "Well, I know you're not much of a cuddler, so…"

"Yeah, well, I think we should get upstairs. You're obviously tired."

"Yeah, I, uh… I guess we should."

She starts to stand, but as soon as she puts just the slightest bit of pressure on her ankle, she winces in pain–and as soon as she does, Robin is standing at her side. She smiles gratefully and he helps her to hobble up the stairs–and on her way, she avoids making eye-contact with Granny, who's grinning at them from her perch at the front desk.

"I'm so glad I already changed into sweats," she tells him as he helps her into bed. "I'd probably injure myself again if I had to change out of my jeans."

He chuckles and shakes his head at her attempt at self-deprecation and when she's settled in bed with a stack of pillows beneath her foot and the quilt over her lap, Robin grabs his pajamas and disappears into the bathroom to change–and once again, she finds herself smiling as she remembers how warm he felt against her as she slept, how good his arms felt around her as he'd carried through the snow, and how comfortable he made her feel.

The bathroom door opens and he dims the lights, then crawls into his side of the bed–and then her cell phone buzzes on the nightstand beside him. Her heart skips a beat as he reaches for her and she watches the way he holds it out to her, not looking at the screen but very well aware of who is calling–and there's the slightest hint of a smile that stretches across his lips as she rejects the call.

Regina falls asleep almost instantly–and he finds himself laying on his side and watching her sleep, lost in thought as he replays the day's events over and over again in his head, unable to remember the last time he enjoyed being in the presence of another person who wasn't his son.

It's strange to think they only met a day before because it doesn't feel that way at all. Even with Marian, he'd never felt this sort of connection before, never met anyone who he'd instantly clicked with–and as he thinks back to the evening before in the toy store, he realizes that it was instant. Even then, before he knew anything other than that she was a mother of a nine-year old boy who desperately wanted a Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster for Christmas, he'd liked her and found himself wanting to know her better–and then when the snow storm had thrown them back together, there was a little voice at the back of his head wondering if this was fate.

Of course, he was much too practical to believe in something like that–much too practical that the universe was somehow sending him a girlfriend–or even just the potential of one–and though he could appreciate a good love story, he was never one to believe in things like true love or love at first sight. Those things weren't real–they simply existed in stories.

But then, there she was, her pleading with him to allow her to take the Nerf gun–and if he were being completely honest, he'd have given her anything, if he thought that it would make her happy. As he'd gotten onto the freeway that, he found himself thinking about her, wishing that they could have met another way or another time–and then, there she was again, and it felt like they now had all the time in the world.

He smiles a gently–and maybe even a little sadly–as he watches her sleep, looking so peaceful and rested. It seems so selfish to want another day with her, to hope that snow doesn't let up in the morning–but at the same time, he can't help but hope for it.

That afternoon, he'd wanted to kiss her–more than he'd ever wanted to kiss someone. It had been like a magnetic pull, so strong that he could almost taste her. And as he'd leaned in, before the little voice in the back of his hand warned him against it, it looked like she wanted it as much as he did. But then the voice got louder and louder until it was practically screaming at him, reminding him not to put her in a compromising position, that she had a boyfriend and taking advantage of the obvious rift between them wasn't fair to her. So, he'd pulled back–and for an all too brief moment, it looked like she was as disappointed as he was.

Sighing, he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, remembering the day Marian had told him about Mulan. For months before, he knew that something wasn't quite right, that something between them had changed. But he'd ignored it, telling himself that it was all in his head–he and Marian were fine, they had to be.

But they weren't–and looking back, he could see that they never were.

She'd been in tears as she confessed that she _met someone_ and while she never intended for any of this to happen, she was in love with her. He'd blinked a few times, unable to process any of it, as she went on to explain that they'd met at her yoga class. He scoffed, remembering how he'd gotten her a year-long membership to one of the fancy health clubs downtown, remembering telling her she needed to take time for herself. She'd rolled her yes, scoffing as she told him she was perfectly fine with her five-dollar yoga mat and YouTube videos, but he'd insisted. And after the first session, she came home glowing–she loved everything about it. Then, he'd felt a thrill of victory, glad to have given her something that brought her joy, glad to see her smile–but then, looking back, he'd regretted it, realizing that he'd set it all into motion.

She hadn't started with the intention of having an affair–but it happened. One kiss, turned into two–and _it'd just happened_ , she'd said. And he hadn't understood–these things didn't just happened. They were choices–fate hadn't thrown them together, as Marian seemed to imply, she'd made a choice.

And then as he was sitting across from her, reeling as she tried to understand, she'd looked up at him with teary eyes and asked him if he'd ever met someone he couldn't stop thinking about, someone who he instantly connected with, someone he was instantly comfortable with, and someone who he couldn't wait to see–someone who made his heart race and his breath grow shallow, someone whose smile made his chest flutter, someone whose mere presence made him feel safe and secure.

She'd waited–staring at him as he considered it, and then, after too long, he shook his head–he'd never felt that for a woman. Not even Marian.

His eyes had cast down and he did his best to collect his emotions as he asked her what came next–and she'd given him a regretful little smile, and told him that she loved him. He'd scoffed at that, but she reached across the table and took his hand and told him that until recently, she just hadn't realized she wasn't in love with him–she hadn't known there was a difference.

It felt like a consolation prize–something she hoped would soften the blow, but it hadn't done that. Instead, it just made him painfully aware of how lonely he was. He didn't understand any of what she meant that night–and even after the anger and hurt dulled, even after he'd come to terms with what happened and accepted it, even then, he didn't understand it.

But now, as he laid beside Regina, he thought he might be starting to.

And he wasn't ready to let her go–he wasn't ready to let whatever it was between them, whatever it was that he was feeling, dwindle away and be reduced to _what could have been_.

He sighs again, slowly exhaling a breath as he closes his eyes–and then he rolls onto his side, intending on turning off the thoughts spiraling around his head head. But as he turns, Regina rolls over, shifting herself onto her side and tugging at the blankets. He holds his breath as she lets out a content sigh, and when he opens his eyes, she's facing him and laying much closer than either of them should be comfortable with.

Swallowing hard, a smile edges its way onto his lips as he remembers what she said about having insomnia–and though she was probably exaggerating to make some sort of point, he's glad that she's sleeping now. Tentatively, he reaches out and tucks a few straying strands of hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger at her jaw. She smiles in her sleep as his fingers touch her cheeks–brushing softly as against her warm skin–and she nuzzles against him.

And he wonders if he really could be in love with her.

She's only limping the next morning–and though she's able to walk on her own, even though she finds herself holding onto Robin's arm, just to be sure, as they make their way down to breakfast.

The morning had started off a bit awkwardly–mostly because she'd awoken in his arms. He was still asleep and she was pressed up against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. Her breath had caught in her chest as she tried to figure out what to do, not wanting to wake him and not wanting him to find her, literally, all over him. Slowly, she'd pulled away and did her best not to shift the mattress as she edged her way back to her side of the bed–hoping that he didn't wake just yet and hoping that he'd already been asleep when she'd decided to cuddle up to him.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she laid there beside him, her mind reeling–and no matter what she found herself thinking about, she kept returning to that brief moment just as she'd awakened and the contentment she'd felt as she breathed him in. And she'd caught herself off guard when she found herself thinking that it was such a pleasant way to wake up, and wishing it could be a regular thing.

When Robin woke up, he didn't say anything and she felt relieved and he'd smiled brightly as she got out of bed and was able to stand on _both_ feet. They'd quickly gotten dressed and made their way downstairs to find a waffle bar set up in the dining room.

They chose a little table by the fireplace and then made their way to the waffle bar–and as soon as he pulled the ladle out of the batter, he spilled some on the table. Grimacing he looked to her as she laughed, and then when he poured the batter into the iron, it sizzled and spit at him, and again she laughed. But then, it was her turn–and she made even more of a mess. The batter got all over her fingers and even in her hair–and by the time they were dropping golden waffles onto their plates they were in tears.

She chose the apple topping and he chose the cherry–and then, he grabbed one of the bottles of whipped cream and carried it back to their table with their plates.

"You're really going to use _all_ of that?"

"It's half empty," he says dismissively. "And it's not like you're not going to use some, too."

"I usually don't."

His eyes narrow. "Usually," he says slowly. "But this morning is different."

"How so?"

Robin shrugs. "Because it's like you're on vacation."

"This is a vacation?"

He shrugs and grins. "It's close enough…"

"Okay," she murmurs in reply, nodding in concession. "I can agree to that, but… are you implying that calories don't count when you're on vacation?"

"They don't," he tells her in a tone that's very matter-of-fact. "And _kale_ isn't allowed to be a part of _any_ meal you eat on vacation."

"What's wrong with kale?"

"It's disgusting, that's what."

"It isn't." Her shoulders straighten and she feel oddly defensive. "I usually have a kale salad for lunch."

He nods. "You mentioned that."

"I enjoy it."

His eyes narrow as he pops the cap off of the whipped cream. "No one enjoys kale," he says smartly as he pushes down on the nozzle, and the whipped cream spray into a spiral on his waffles and splatters all over the table and all over him–and Regina can't help the burst of laughter that escapes her.

His face flushes as his eye meet hers as he uses his napkin to wipe it away–and then, acting on impulse her laughter fades and she leans forward and wipes a missed spot off his chin and as she pulls back, licks off of her finger. Robin's brow arches as he watches her and she can see his jaw and shoulders tensing–and then, it's her turn to blush when she realizes what she's just done.

"I… I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I… um, I don't know why I did that."

He clears his throat. "See, you're craving…uh….something other than, um…kale."

"Yeah," she says, nodding as she tries to push aside her embarrassment. "That _has_ to be it." A grin edges onto her lips and he sprays some whipped cream onto her waffles and she can't help but chuckle when he presses his eyes closed and turns his face away. "I think you're safe now," she tells him, chuckling again as he turns his face back and opens one eye. "You are such a dork…"

" _I'm_ a dork?" he asks, opening his eyes and blinking at her. "You just basically licked whipped cream off of me because you're so deprived of junk food."

Her shoulders square. "First of all," she begins as her chin tips up. "I licked the whipped cream off of my fingers. And secondly, it was… an instinct."

He grins. "Your instincts tells you to wipe breakfast condiments off of people's faces?"

"Whipped cream is _not_ a condiment and," she sighs, bristing as she stares at him, annoyed that he seems to recovered from his embarrassment while she's still drowning in it, "And, it's…a mom thing."

"Is it?"

"Sure," she tells him, nodding as if that will help to convince him. "You're lucky I didn't cut up your waffles."

"I see…"

"And what _I_ see," Granny says as she approaches their table, holding a pot of coffee, "Is that you two are doing a terrible job flirting with each other."

Regina's eyes widen. "We're not–"

"No, no, that's not what–"

"Sure," Granny says as tips over their cups. "Whatever you say."

"We're not _flirting_."

"Right, we're–having a discussion."

"Oh, I can hear you," Granny says, pouring some coffee into Regina's mug as she looks between them. "And the two of you were flirting. You've been flirting since you got here."

" _No_ we haven't," Regina scoffs. "That's–"

"That's _ridiculous_ ," Robin says as her voice fades.

Granny just grins as she pours Robin some coffee. "Look at you two, finishing each other's sentences."

"It wasn't hard for figure out where she was going with that," Robin says, as he looks to Granny–and she can't help but notice the way his voice hitches, like he's nervous or maybe lying.

"Whatever you say," Granny says in a nearly sing-song voice as she turns away from the table–as Regina turns to Robin with wide eyes and he looks back at her with a similar expression. Neither says anything for a moment, and she can tell he's not sure what to say either–and she wonders if it's for the same reason that she doesn't know what to say.

"I wasn't flirting with you," he says after a moment. "I was just–"

"No, no. I get it," she says, cutting in as she reaches for her fork. "I know you weren't. And, for the record, neither was I."

Robin nods. "We're– friends, right? We were just…"

"Teasing each other."

"Yeah."

Clearing her throat, she pulls her phone from her pocket–and she can see Robin watching as she does. She looks up at him and then taps the weather app and she struggles against the urge to smile when she sees the little snowflake icon over every hour of the day.

"More snow," she tells him, turning her phone so he can see it. "Looks like we'll be spending another day together."

"Looks like it," he nods–as grin creeps onto his lips. "But I think we need tamer activities than yesterday's."

"Tamer than laying in bed and playing cards and watching a corny movie?"

"I was referring to the our little stroll in the snow."

"Ah, right," she sighs, instinctively rolling her ankle and grimaces a little as she feels a dull twinge of pain. "How could I forget?"

"I don't know," he says, chuckling softly as he cuts into his waffle with his fork. "So, anyway… what's… um… what's on Granny's itinerary for today?"

She blinks and then notices a piece of paper on the table–and she smiles. "Ornaments."

"Again?"

"This time, they're plaster."

"I think I'd prefer the pinecones."

Regina shrugs and cuts into her waffle–and finally, she feels herself relaxing and settling into the moment. "Maybe she has some left."

"I hope so. The plaster ones creep me out."

Her brow arches. "Little pieces of plaster shaped like snowmen and Christmas trees creep you out."

"It's not the _shape_ ," he says, a bit defensively as his eyes shift to hers. "It's the _texture_. They're like…. Tiny little chalkboards that–"

"So, if I were to run my nail across it…"

"I'd go out and sleep in my truck."

Her head tips to the side, but she holds his gaze. "And that would be a punishment to me?"

A grin twists onto his lips and he shrugs, then he looks back to his waffle and cuts another piece. "I don't know," he says as a soft laugh rises into his voice. "Would you miss having… someone to cuddle with?"

Her eyes widen and again–and her lips part, but she can't seem to find her words. "I, um… I didn't know that you…um… that you…"

"Knew?"

"Yeah…"

"Oh…" She takes a breath–that's all she can manage because she doesn't know what to say, she barely understands what she feels–and she feels her cheeks warm.

"You might have noticed that I didn't push you away." She looks up and he grins–shy and nervous–and somehow, that puts her at ease. "I just think that… for both of us it's… it's been a long time that we felt completely comfortable with someone..someone who makes you feel safe."

Suddenly her mouth grows dry and she swallows hard as she finds herself nodding along–agreeing.

"I'm not saying it's anything romantic, but it's nice to… have someone."

"It is," she says, her voice hoarse. "And I… I feel that way, too." She takes a breath and smiles softly as she shrugs. "It sounds crazy, but–"

"It's not."

"No?"

Robin shakes his head. "It was nice to have someone to hold, even it it was just for a little bit."

"Yeah," she murmurs, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stares at him. "Even just for a little bit…"

Leaning against the wall outside of their room–once more Roland blew him off.

Of course, he couldn't blame him for it–watching Spiderman cartoons and having hot cocoa with breakfast did sound better than talking on the phone, listening to the same apology he'd heard at least twice before. Marian had sensed his bruised ego and insisted that Roland didn't mean to hurt his feelings; she'd even offered to put their son back on the phone, essentially forcing him to talk. But he didn't want to do that–he didn't want Roland to resent him, and truthfully, he didn't have much to say. Everything was at a standstill–it was still snowing and he was still stuck, he still wasn't sure that he was going to make it in time for Christmas, and he was still sorry.

Releasing a breath, he pushes himself away from the wall and listens at the door, not wanting to interrupt if Regina's on the phone with Henry–but all he hears is silence.

He knocks gently as he pushes open the door, and almost instantly, his breath catches in his chest as he stares at her, sitting at the window in a red turtleneck sweater and jeans, holding a towel in her lap. Her hairs is damn and curls are forming–thick messy spirals that sit atop her shoulders–and she looks so fresh-faced and… sad.

She doesn't seem to notice that he's come into the room–instead she stares out at the falling snow, almost as if in a trance–and he clears his throat, in an effort to make his presence known. But still, she stares off.

Tentatively, he takes a step toward her and clears his throat again–and this time, he gets her attention. She turns her head sharply in his direction and she tries to muster smile, but it doesn't quite work out and she looks away, back out at the snow.

"So, it looks like your phone call went about as well as mine."

There's a long pause and then she sighs. "Henry was still asleep."

"Oh," he murmurs, shifting on his feet. "Well, I'm sure in couple of hou–"

"My mother answered his phone," she says, looking back at him from over his shoulder. "I can't _fucking_ believe her." Her voice hitches and she shakes her head, then looks back to the window. "I shouldn't be surprised, but… here I am."

He swallows. "I… I don't…" He sighs, at a loss for words. "What happened?" For a moment, she doesn't reply. Instead, she just stares out at the snow–and she looks so defeated. "Regina…"

"My mother wants to take Henry to see his other grandparents."

"Oh…"

"Henry hasn't seen them since before the divorce. I'm not sure he even remembers them."

He takes a breath, trying to process it and trying to understand. "Then, why…"

"What if he's there?"

"What?"

Regina turns to him and there are tears in her eyes–and he feels his chest tighten. "It's Christmas and Leopold always goes to his parents' for Christmas." Her jaw tightens and she sucks in a breath. "He hasn't bothered to even call, let alone made any effort to see Henry since I left and… and now… now he gets to spend Christmas with _my_ son."

Slowly, he releases his breath and takes a few steps forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tries to construct a timeline, but by the time he's crossed the room he realizes the timeline doesn't matter. "I… don't get it," he tells her as he sits down in the armchair. "I've spent months away from my son and I hate it. I hate every second of it. And the thought of missing Christmas morning with him is… it's… unimaginable."

"That's because you love him."

He blinks. "You… don't think your ex loves Henry?"

She hesitates, but shakes her head. "I know it makes me sound like…I'm bitter or jealous or projecting my own feelings, but, I know he doesn't." She sighs. "He never wanted Henry and when we split up, he only wanted custody to hurt me. And then as soon as it became real possibility, he backed out."

"Bloody bastard," he murmurs under his breath–eliciting a little grin from her. "How the fuck can you not want your own child?"

"Well, that's just it… he never considered Henry _his_ child." His brow furrows and he tips his head to the side, remembering an when they'd talked about summer babies and her odd response regarding her own son's birth. Her grin broadens–obviously remembering something dear to her–and it makes him smile. "Henry's adopted." She laughs softly as she turns herself away from the window and pulls her feet up onto the armchair. "Leopold has a daughter who was fourteen at the time and… it wasn't long after we married that it became crystal clear that the reason he married me was so that I could be a glorified babysitter for his daughter."

"I… don't understand, why not just hire a nanny?"

"For a fourteen year old?" Regina's brow arches and she nods when his lips part and his eyes sink closed as he connects the dots . "Besides, there was one other reason he wanted a young twenty-four year old wife that had nothing to do with being a glorified babysitter."

"Ah, I see…" he murmurs as his jaw tightens.

"It was… terrible," she says, chuckling softly as she looks away. "But one day Mary Margaret…"

"The daughter?"

"Yes," she says, nodding. "Mary Margaret was getting out of the pool and she slipped on the bottom stair of the deck and needed stitches. So I took her to the hospital and…" She laughs. "And after something like nine hours, I needed a break."

"Understandable."

"Even moreso if you knew Mary Margaret Blanchard." A slight grin edges onto her lips. "She has… a bit of a dramatic flare and sucks up to her father like there's no tomorrow."

"Was he there?"

"No. He was away on a business trip." Her eyes roll. "She had me call them though." She takes a breath, and there's something about the way her expression changes that is both endearing and sad. "So, I left her with her father via my cell phone and I went for a walk… and I found myself standing in the window of that little room where you can see all the newborn babies…"

He nods. "I spent several hours in front of one of those windows falling deeper and deeper in love with my son on the night he was born."

A smile draws onto her lips and for a moment, all the sadness and anger fades away as loses herself in the memory. "A teenager had given birth to a baby boy and couldn't keep him and… he was crying." She shakes her head as she looks back to him, and he feels a smile tug up a the corner of his mouth. "I don't know what came over me, but there wasn't anyone around and… so, I went in and I picked him up and I sat down in the rocker and I… just knew that I'd never be able to put him back."

"Love at first sight."

"Yeah," she nods. "Then, all of the sudden a nurse and social worker came in, and I think they were more than a little alarmed to see me holding him, but I found myself asking all of these questions and–" She stops, grimacing as she shakes her head. "I even _name-dropped._ "

His brow arches. "Name-dropped? How so?"

"I told them that my name was Regina _Mills_ _Blanchard_."

"Ah…"

"I made sure they knew that I had money and influence and both a mother and husband who had a reputation for being ruthless and getting whatever they wanted, and… a few days later, I was officially Henry's foster-mom, and just a little less than a year later, I got to drop the _foster_ part of the title and I was just his mom."

"And Leopold wasn't as thrilled as you were?"

"Not in the least."

"That's… too bad."

She nods. "That was the beginning of the end." She pauses and her eyes meet his–and once again, he himself feeling that warm flutter in his chest and finds a soft smile tugging onto her lip. "Well, no… that's… that's just when I realized it _should_ end."

He blinks, not really knowing what to say to her. So instead of saying anything, he reaches over touches his hand to her ankle. "Henry is lucky to have you."

"Maybe," she murmurs softy. "But I'm the lucky one." She hesitates for a moment as their eyes meet. "I wouldn't have survived that marriage. I… I don't know what would have happened, but I don't think I'd have survived it." Taking a breath she shakes her head and draws in a breath. "I felt like I was suffocating and–" Her voice halts and she looks away, her cheeks flushing. "I don't know what I'm telling you this."

"Because I'm practically a stranger and… sometimes that's easier."

She nods and looks back to him, batting her hands over her eyes to push away her tears. "You're not a stranger."

"Well… practically."

"No," she says, waiting for their eyes to meet again. "I don't think I can call someone that I've spent that past couple of nights sleeping beside a stranger." His eyes roll and he laughs a bit uncomfortably–though he's not sure why. "And to make matters worse, my mother likes Graham."

His eyes narrow. "Does she?"

"She asked me why I've been hiding him from her."

"Ah…"

"So, I'm sure when I end things with him, it'll be just another disappointment."

"How so?"

"Well, there's little that I do that doesn't disappoint her."

"So, I take it your mother is of the tough love variety?"

"She's tough," Regina murmurs. "Not so sure about the love part."

He shifts–and suddenly he realizes that his hand still rests on her ankle, and awkwardly he pulls it away, sure to avert her gaze as he does. "So, you've decided then?"

"I think I decided a long time ago. I'm just… finally acting on it." She takes a breath. "The funny thing is, I… I think he's going to propose."

"Oh, I…" His voice falters and he feels an odd sense of jealousy bubble up from his core. "Have you two discussed marriage?"

"No."

"Then…"

"He keeps dropping these little hints and… it's just a feeling I've had."

"Is that why you've been avoiding him?"

"In part." She takes a breath and drops her feet from the armchair. "But I don't want to talk about Graham, especially not when there isn't anything I can do about it."

His heart beats a little faster and he finds himself imagining how things might be different between them, even now, if she were free–unobliged and uncommitted–and for a moment, he gets lost in the possibilities.

It's not until her laugh rings out that he's brought back into the present moment–and his heart practically leaps into his throat as she reaches for his wrist, pulling him up from the chair as she laughs. It takes him a couple of seconds to understand–and then he notices a little squirrel, doing his best to haul a waffle twice his size through the snow, panicking and clutching his waffle tighter every time he sinks into the snow. Robin can't help but laugh, and when she tugs him down into the window seat beside her, his breath catches in his chest–and as she leans back into him, he struggles against the temptation to wrap his arms around her and hold her.

Granny hands them each an ornament as they enter–and a soft grin pulls onto her lips as she watches Robin suck in a breath as he takes it. He barely holds it–instead, it rests on his finger tips, almost as though it's floating, as the make their way to what's quickly becoming _their_ table.

He sets the ornament down onto the paper-covered table and pulls out her chair–and she feels her stomach flutter a little as she smiles her thanks.

"I don't suppose there are any pinecones left?"

"I'm not the one to ask," she reminds him.

Sighing he sits down across from her and nods. "Yeah, but I don't think I can actually do that." He shakes his head and chuckles softly to himself. "It seems like the sort of thing I'd lecture Roland about, if he were to ask such a thing."

"Then I guess you're stuck with a plaster one."

"I suppose I am."

Her smile fades slightly as she looks at the little plaster bird in her hand and she smoothes her fingers over the edges. They're sitting at the table–which is covered in brown craft paper–and at the center, there are tiny cups of paint and glitter.

She can easily remember the first time she and Henry painted ornaments together.

A wistful little smile remembers how she'd bundled him up and taken him out for a walk. It was cold and dark, but she needed to get out–she needed the air, she'd said–and Leopold hadn't tried to stop them. After a few blocks, she realized just how cold it was and how inappropriate it was that she'd dragged an 18-month old out in it… but she couldn't go home. It was a couple more blocks before she'd decided to take Henry to the library–thinking she could entertain him with books and puppets and riding up and down the elevator until they closed. But when she'd arrived, the little stretch of hallway in front of the children's section was crowded with school-aged children and their parents. There were tables set up–all lined up and covered with craft paper–and one of the librarians she'd formed a tentative friendship with over the course of the past year, waved her over as she handed out little plaster ornaments.

Belle was wearing an apron covered in Christmas trees and wearing red and green fuzzy antlers, and she smiled warmly at Henry, giving him a little wave as she asked Regina if they were there to paint ornaments. She'd been hesitant–all of the other children were much older than Henry–but Belle insisted she could help him. So, she found herself sitting down at one of the tables and pulling Henry into her lap–and he was enthralled by just watching the other children painting. His eyes widened as Belle set a little pallet of paint and glitter down in front of where they sat and handed Regina a brush and an ornament–and less than ten minutes, she'd given up trying to guide Henry's little hand of the brush. His hands were covered in paint and he was giggling loudly as he smeared his fingers over the plaster ornament.

By the end of the evening, he'd painted her a red snowman–with a green hat and a blue nose, holding snow shovel that was a mess of colors. And there was glitter everywhere–on the snowman and on him…

Blinking a couple of times, she looks away from her ornament and to Robin, sitting across from her and grimacing as holds his ornament–that matches hers–up by the string as he scrunches his nose and carefully sets it back down on to the table. He sighs and she can't help but smile at the way he goes out of his way not to actually touch the ornament.

"Henry loves these things," she tells him as she hands him one of the plastic paint brushes that were set out for them. "Every year, he and I make one. I've got them all on a little tree in my bedroom"

Robin grins and takes at brush, dabbing it into the red paint. "Roland shares my dislike of the texture." He chuckles softly and she feels a grin tugging up at the corner of her mouth. "Of course, he always manages to forget that and begs me to buy him some and then as soon as we get them home and get out all of his paints and craft things, he _remembers_ and ends up in tears." He laughs as he looks from his paintbrush to her. "It's a really wonderful tradition."

Shaking her head, she laughs quietly to herself. "Do you and Roland have any other traditions…you know, ones that don't end with anyone in tears?"

Robin nods and she dips her brush into the yellow paint. "Since he was a baby, he and I have cuddled up on Christmas Eve and read _The Polar Express_ , and last year, we added the movie."

"That's a good one–a classic." She pauses, noticing the way his smile fades slightly, and though she doesn't ask, she knows that he's wondering if he'll even have the chance this year–she knows because she's thought the same about her own holiday traditions with her son . "Does he like to read?"

Robin nods. "It's new and exciting for him. I hope it sticks."

"He's at such a fun age," she murmurs, remembering Henry at that age–remembering how proud and curious he'd been, always eager to share new words with her and demonstrate his newfound and strengthening abilities.

Robin nods. "Even now, even with miles and miles between us, he and I read together a couple nights a week."

"How sweet…"

"He's on a kick with _The Hardy Boys_ series."

Her brow arches. "He's a fan of the classics. He's got good taste."

"He's an old soul," Robin tells her–and she feels her smile warming. She loves the way his eyes shine whenever he talks about his son. "We found a box-set at a garage sale when he was visiting, and then I bought him a new set from the local bookstore near Marian's. That way we both have our own copies and can follow along more easily." He smiles, but she can't help but notice the way the shimmer in his eyes fade, replaced by a cloud of sadness. "We read them together over Skype."

"That's sweet," she murmurs, as she feels a dull ache in her chest. She can't imagine having her relationship with Henry consist of week-long visits and scheduled Skype appointments. It would kill her–and she can see that it's killing him, too. "And I'm sure Roland enjoys it as much as you do."

"I hope so," he tells her, making a face at his ornament as he brushes the red paint over the banner at the center. "I worry about not being there for him… about him and I not having a real relationship, being the type of father who shows up at Easter and Chris–"

His voice halts and her chest clenches, aching for him. Though she and Henry had never been separated for long, she understands the fear he feels–and without thinking, she reaches across the table and takes his hand, giving it a tight little squeeze.

"You could _never_ be those things."

"No?"

"No," she says in a confident tone that surprises even her.

"And how do you know that?"

"I can just tell," she says easily. "You love him too much to be an absentee father." His lips part, as if to protest, but she shakes her head. "And I won't let you doubt that. There might be physical distance between the two of you, but you make an effort to make it seem smaller. You're still a part of his life, and you always will be."

A lopsided little grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "I like having you around. You're good for the ego."

She shrugs and swirls her brush through the water. "I have my uses…"

Swallowing hard, she feels his fingers curl around her hand and though it occurs to her that she should pull away from him, she doesn't–and her heart races as they sit quietly together, holding onto one another. His fingers are warm and press lightly into her skin, and there's something so comforting about sitting this way with him–sort of the way it felt earlier that day when they'd sat together in the window seat in their room. She'd closed her eyes and felt herself lean back into him, and it no longer surprised her when she found herself wishing that his arms would fold around her and that he'd hold her–she wanted to be close to him. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that made her feel that way, but whatever it was, she liked it–and she found herself almost craving it.

"Do you, um… know what this is supposed to be?"

"What?"

She blinks then sighs a bit wistfully as he pulls back his hand. "These ornaments. What are they? Birds, obviously, but…"

"They're turtle doves."

"Oh…"

"And what's this thing?" he says, touching his brush to the red-painted banner across the bird.

She chuckles softly. "It' a ribbon or… something," she tells him. "You can write the year or someone's name or… a short little quote or something."

"Ah… that makes sense," he tells her. "I wonder why Granny picked _these_ ones."

"She probably had them leftover from something else."

"Probably," he says, nodding in reply. "But why _birds_."

Again, a chuckle bubbles up from her core. "Well, they're turtle doves." His brow arches and his eyes shift between her and the ornament, and then back to her. "Do you know what a turtle dove is?"

"Well obviously," he says as a grin tugs across his lips. "But what exactly do they have to do with Christmas? Aside from being a part of that song."

"Henry was obsessed with that song when he was about four."

"Oh?"

She nods, remembering the way he'd hum it quietly to himself as he played with his trucks on the floor. "We spent an entire day looking up each of the twelve things and why they were important to Christmas," she tells him with a sigh. "It was… exhausting and only led to more questions."

"And what did you and Henry learn about turtle doves?"

She feels her cheeks warm and his eyebrows arch as he notices. "Um, they mean that… that love is never far."

"Oh," he murmurs as a grin twists onto his lips. "I see."

"It's… a nice sentiment."

"Absolutely. Especially around the holidays."

"Do you think everyone was given turtle doves or do you think these were selected just for us."

At that, he laughs. "I… would not put it past Granny. She, um… she seems quite determined, for whatever reason, to play matchmaker."

"So, it's not just me. She _is_ doing that."

"She most definitely is."

An awkward silence falls between them, and she's not quite sure what to do or say. Sure, there are things she wants to say, but she can't quite find the words–and even if she could, she'd never be able to voice them. It was crazy to think she'd be developing feelings for him–they'd known each other for only a couple of days and there was so much she didn't know about him.

Taking a breath, she tells herself that she's being ridiculous–you can't fall in love with a person you barely know. She doesn't even know where he lives or what he does for a living. Aside from being divorced and having a son, she knows nothing about his family or upbringing or background–and though people always tell her those things really don't matter, they _do_ matter because they're the sorts of things that shape a person into who they are.

She doesn't know him, so can't love him–and she finds herself silently repeating this mantra again and again, telling herself that they're just trapped in a little bubble, that she's overly emotional because she's missing Henry and looking for an out with Graham, that she's misinterpreting her own feelings and projecting…

"Maybe we should… trade ornaments," Robin suggests, grinning as he shrugs his shoulders. "Though, yours looks much nicer than mine, so I'd more than understand if you wanted to keep your own."

"No," she's quick to say. "I think that's… a nice idea."

He nods. "To commemorate our time time together."

She finds herself nodding too–and she's not quite sure how she feels about _commemorating_ their time together. It makes it sound so final–like once the snow is cleared, they'll go their separate ways–back to their normal lives outside of the little bubble they'd been forced into–and they'd never see or speak to one another again. "I like that," she says–only partly lying. "As much as I'd rather be spending the days before the holidays with Henry, I… can't say that I haven't enjoyed the couple of days we've spent together." Her shoulders straighten, and she feels herself growing defensive. "The ornament would be like… a little souvenir."

Robin swallows and clears his throat, his lips parting as he hesitates to respond–and then before he can, his phone vibrates on the table and he sighs. "That's Marian… or, hopefully Roland. I should take this…"

"Of course," she murmurs as he rises from the table and grabs his phone, retreating to the lobby to take the call–and as she looks to the now empty space in front of her, her throat tightens and a dull ache settles in her chest, and she feels the oddest sense of loss.

Regina's sitting in the window again–staring out at the snow with one leg extended across the length of the window and the other dangling down. All afternoon, she'd been quiet–and he didn't know why. It wasn't that she was being rude or as though she didn't want to be around him–it was quite the contrary, actually, and he assumed that she was just missing her son, that days of being away from him at the holidays were beginning to take their toll on her.

Marian had called just as they were finishing their plaster ornaments. He'd taken the call only because he'd hoped for a conversation with Roland that lasted more than a couple of minutes–but when he answered, it wasn't Roland's voice on the other end. It was Marian's. Roland was outside, playing in the snow with Mulan–and she was calling just to check in.

The sentiment was nice enough–she still cared about him and since the moment she told him that their marriage was over, she'd expressed the hope that they could still be friends. That had been hard at first–and more times than not, it still was–but he'd said he wanted that, too, if only for Roland's sake.

But he couldn't deny that he was a bit annoyed that she'd called just then–and she'd sensed it. Finally, he'd admitted that he wasn't alone at the little inn–and though it hadn't at all been his intention, he'd met someone. He didn't give her many details–after all, he didn't know if he was being completely truthful. He _liked_ Regina. He liked her a lot–but he wasn't entirely sure how she felt about him. At times, there seemed like there was a spark–a spark they both felt and noticed and acknowledged. But they talked around it and the circumstances that had brought them together were odd–providing them a little vacation from their normal lives, and he'd wondered if their feelings were a part of that–like they'd suddenly found themselves trapped in some cliche rom-com that was certain to end with them parting ways, but always looking back fondly on their time together.

Besides that, there was so much about each other they didn't know–and that's all of the information he'd volunteered when Marian had asked. And, Marian had reminded him that you don't start off knowing everything about a person–that was the point of dating.

And he'd chuckled at the sentiment and let it go–not wanting to tell her that this woman he'd met was in a relationship. Even if Regina's relationship with Graham was, at best, a strained one that she said she wanted to end, he couldn't be sure that this wasn't a rough patch for them or that she wouldn't change her mind. He didn't want to admit aloud the very real possibility that he'd built up his own feelings–and he'd most certainly built up hers. He had nothing solid to go off of–only assumptions and he couldn't very well build a relationship off of assumptions.

After getting nowhere with him, Marian had switched the subject to an easier topic for both of them–Roland–and they'd spent nearly a half an hour coming up with a plan for Robin to see Roland, if he wasn't able to make it in time for Christmas.

When he'd returned to the table, Regina was sitting there with her elbows on the table facetiming with Henry–and he felt terribly when her call ended abruptly when he rejoined her.

"I think we should order in," he says, looking over at him from his spot on the bed. "Unless you want to eat downstairs… or unless you're getting sick of me."

She turns and looks at him. "I'm not getting sick of you," she tells him in a soft, but otherwise blank voice. "I was just… thinking."

"Ah…"

"Ordering in sounds nice."

"Are you sure? While I'm incredibly comfortable on this bed…"

A grin edges onto her lips. "It is strangely comfortable, is it?"

"It makes me realize just how stiff my own mattress is," he says, nodding. "But there's a TV downstairs, and I'm sure Granny's playing something. So if you want to–"

"I think I want to stay here," she says, sitting up and dropping her other led down over the side of the window seat. "I'd have to change back into my sweater and jeans and–"

He blinks. "Why?"

Regina's eyes widen. "I'm wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt."

"So? I am, too. And I'd bet most of the others staying here will be dressed in a similar fashion."

"Fashion was a poor choice of words," she tells him, her chin tipping up in a way that's both haughty and adorable. "And I don't care what everyone else is wearing. I will not be seen in a public setting dressed in my pajamas."

"Because you have standards."

"Yes," she agrees with a definitive nod. "Exactly."

"I see," he says, laughing as she rises from the window seat and pads in her sock-covered feet to the bed–and then his mouth goes dry as she sits down on the bed beside him–not on her own side of the bed where there's more than enough space, but on his side. She curls her legs beneath herself and she leans in to see the menu–and she's practically of top of him. "So," he murmurs, clearing his throat and trying his best to ignore the scent of her perfume and his growing desire to sit up and kiss her. "I was thinking about ordering a pizza."

"From the menu?"

"I doubt anywhere nearby would deliver." Her eyes roll and he can't help the smile the draws onto his lips–he enjoys her sarcasm and her sass. "Do you have another suggestion?"

"Well, considering I don't eat pizza…" she murmurs, plucking the menu from his fingertips. "Let's see…"

"Everyone eats pizza."

"I don't."

He laughs. "You _say_ you don't.'

"Because I don't."

"You know, you can put kale on it." Again, her eyes roll and he chuckles softly to himself. "I couldn't help but notice you didn't even try to make today's breakfast healthy."

She blinks as she looks up at him. "Well, I had a salad for lunch."

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "That's true–a salad with fried chicken on it."

Her shoulders straighten and she looks back to the menu. "It needed some protein and that was all that was available."

"Just like the other day at breakfast," he laughs. "You spent ten minutes looking at egg-white omelets and got French toast."

"I wanted to splurge a little," she tells him flatly, not looking up–and again, he pushes away the urge to pluck away the menu and kiss her. "After all, according to you this is a vacation."

"And calories don't count."

"Yourwords, not mine…" A smile draws onto her lips. "And that give me an idea for dinner."

Sitting up, he puts a little distance between them–and he can't help but notice that she notices, looking down at the newly formed space between them. "Please tell me I won't be eating egg whites and kale for dinner instead of a nice, greasy pizza." He brightens a bit. "We could put _vegetables_ on the pizza."

"I have a better idea."

"Pepperoni and sausage?"

"Better. I think it's something we can both live with." She turns the menu around and his eyes narrow to the item she's pointing out. "Lobster tails."

"Yeah," she says. "Imean, we're not in Boston or up in Maine, but we're close enough to the coast. I bet they have great seafood."

"I wouldn't say no to lobster tails…"

"It says they're served with a butter sauce."

A grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "So healthy."

"It's served with steamed vegetables." She laughs a little as she turns the menu back around and looks down at it. "So, you'll get your vegetables, after all."

"The vegetables were for your benefit."

"It also comes with a cheesy risotto."

"Again, so healthy."

He can't help but smile when she looks up at him expectantly and leans in a little. "So, what do you think? I can't order this alone and it sounds _incredible_."

Reaching out, he takes the menu back. "It sounds awfully rich…"

"You were going to eat grease."

He blinks. "And the bread from the crust soaks it up."

"I'll buy…"

"So, we're not going Dutch on this one," he murmurs, taking a short breath as he avoids making eye contact. "If we were anywhere else, that might seem like a date."

For a moment, she doesn't respond–and he finds himself looking up as his heartbeat quickens, hoping he hasn't overstepped. His lips part–ready to apologize or make a joke, but her voice beats his. "It'd be one of the nicer dates I've been on," she tells him in a soft and tentative voice. "Even if we are in our pajamas."

He swallows again, and an awkward little grin forms over his lips–he's suddenly nervous. "Graham's never taken you out for lobster in your pajamas?"

A lopsided grin tugs up from the corner of her mouth. "He's never taken me out for lobster," she confirms, shaking her head. "Pajamas or not."

"Ah…"

"But he does like to take me to little kitschy vegan places."

Robin's eyes narrow, as he remembers the fried chicken she ordered earlier. "Is he a vegan?"

"Neither of us are."

"Then why…?"

"Because it's healthy," she says, sighing. "And apparently I like healthy things." Robin's eyes narrow as she looks up at him and shrugs. "He… doesn't really know me very well."

"Remind me–how long have you two been together?"

"Five years…"

"Right…"

She nods. "He doesn't really…see through the fronts I put up." That seems odd to him–she's a terrible liar, but he doesn't comment on it. "So, are we settled on the lobster, then? Or are you still hoping for pizza?"

"The lobster sounds… incredible." He laughs. "Like a grown up meal."

"You're used to chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese, too?" She laughs softly–and then stops abruptly, her face falling as her eyes widen. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive and–"

"No, no," he cuts in. "Roland and I have a very similar pallet." He pauses as a hint of a smile returns to her. "I should work on broadening my horizons."

"So, the lobster is a go?"

"Sure," he nods. "It'll be nice to eat like an adult for once."

She laughs as her lip catches between her teeth. "Could I also interest you in an adult beverage?"

"Order whatever you want," he tells her easily–a grin edging onto his lips when she smiles in reply, flipping over the menu and looking over the list of wines–and it occurs to him that he enjoys making her smile.

Regina rolls off the bed and reaches for the phone on the nightstand and as he sits up in the bed, he feels a shiver run through him. Looking to the fire place, he can see that the flame has dwindled down–so, with another shiver and a sigh, he gets up and tosses on another log. He pokes at the fire a few times, make sure that the new log is in a position to fully engulf with flames and he draws in a deep breath as the flame grows. He watches it flicker and dance, growing taller and wider as he pokes at it a few times–and then, he tosses on another log into the fire.

He places the poker back into its spot at the hearth and he smiles at his handiwork, taking a moment to hold his hands up in front of the flame and letting them warm–and then he turns, and Regina is _right_ there.

They both laugh out as they collide–and when she tries to step around him, he tries to do the same and once more, they find themselves in the other's way. He shakes his head and stammer out the beginnings of an apology and he can't help but notice the way she shifts herself, moving herself even closer to him. He hears her breath catch and feels his chest both flutter and tighten as she leans up onto her toes, pushing herself closer again as she brushes her lips over his. He swallows hard as he stares down at her, shifting his focus between her eyes and lips as his hand brushes up over her cheek as he gently–and a bit tentatively–draws her in.

As soon as their lips touch, he feels a jolt–both electric and magnetic–as his hand slides over her jaw and into her hair. He kisses her–and she kisses him back as her arm forms around him, guiding him closer.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, she steps back, looking away almost shyly. "I… I'm sorry. I should–"

"I wanted you to."

"Good," she says, her lip catching between her teeth as she steps back a bit more. "Because I really wanted to. I don't know why, I just…"

"Me too."

"That was, um… nice."

"It was," he agrees, hesitating only momentarily before reaching for her. His hand hooks around her and he pulls her back, this time holding her flush against him before kissing her again. Once more she kisses him back and her arms link around his neck, her fingers rubbing at his hairline. He can practically feel her smiling into the kiss–and every now and then, he feels her giggle against his lips.

Reluctantly, he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers, smiling softly as she pecks at his lips. "That was nice, too," she murmurs in a voice that's only audible because of how close they are to one another.

"I've… wanted to do that all day."

She takes a breath, stepping back slightly as she grins. Her hands fall down his arms and she swallows as she looks up at him. "Me too," she admits. "And, I wouldn't mind if… we did it again." He laughs softly as her hands folds around his and she takes a few steps back, tugging him along with her. "Ruby said it'll be about forty-five minutes before our dinner arrives, and… it's not like there's much else to do."

"Right," he murmurs, nodding in agreement as she leads him over to the window seat. "We have to do something to pass the time…"

"Exactly," she says, her voice a little hoarse as she sits, pulling him down beside her. "Otherwise, we might drive ourselves insane with boredom."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he says, nodding again as he leans in–noticing the way she grins, just before his lips meets hers–and somewhere between kisses, he realizes that there's absolutely no denying that he's falling for her.

They'd been jolted apart by Granny knocking at the door with their order–and it'd taken them both a few moments to recover.

Even then, Regina's cheeks were flushed when she'd opened the door–and she couldn't help but notice the way Robin shifted uncomfortably as Granny set up their dinner trays. Regina nodded, pretending to listen as Granny explained something about the tea lights beneath the pot of mulled wine, and she couldn't help but feel like a teenager who'd just been caught with a boy in her room.

Granny ignored it, but offered them a both a knowing wink as she left–and as soon as the door shut behind her, they'd both laughed out

He'd sat on the edge of the bed and she'd pulled the armchair over–and after downing nearly an entire mug of the muddled wine, she'd asked him about his accent. He told her about how his parents met–his mother, an American studying abroad had met an English grad student, and once her year of study was up, she couldn't bring herself to leave. She'd transferred schools and just after her graduation, they'd married–and not long after, he'd been born.

They lived in England until he was twelve, when his father accepted a tenure-track position at a little school in upstate New York not too far from where his mother's parents lived–and though his mother particularly was glad to move back to the states, he always hated that it'd been just after that little window of time that a child could move to another place where the language spoken was different and take on the characteristics of that language without an accent, because he was always teased about the way he pronounced certain things.

At that, she's smiled and said she was glad he hadn't lost the accent because she loved listening to him speak, and he made a quip about how his accent made even the worst of pick-up lines seem charming, which in high school had made all of his friends jealous.

They continued to talk and eat and drink, and she'd told him a little bit about her early childhood–the time before her father died–and how she loved to ride horses. He smiled at that and she told about the Saturdays her father would take her riding. It didn't matter what the weather was like–it didn't matter if it was cold or rainy or a hundred degrees–they almost always went. It was a tradition she'd always wanted to share with Henry–he was her father's namesake, after all–but living in Manhattan made that difficult. And Robin had sweetly reminded her that there was always time to start new traditions.

After dinner, she'd pushed the tray out into the hall, but kept what was left of the wine–and she'd stumbled a bit as she made her way back to the bed. They'd settled together, both leaning back against the pillows with their legs stretched out in front of them. Robin refilled their mugs and they sat together, talking and laughing…

"You've said so much about your father, but what about your mother? Were you two close?"

"Never," she sighs. "She was… cold and distant and I think, in a lot of ways, she resented me."

Robin's brow furrows. "Resented you? Why?"

"I ruined her life," she says flatly, shrugging her shoulders as she takes a sip of the wine. "She never said that, but that was the impression I always got."

"Why's that?"

"Well, she was stuck with my father, for starters…"

"I doubt she was stuck and even if she felt that way, it wasn't your fault."

She smiles a little and sighs–as an adult, she knows that, but as a child it hadn't been so clear. "She was in law school when she got pregnant with me. It was only her second year, but she had her sights set on graduating at the top of her class, moving to Manhattan and becoming a lawyer for some huge corporation." She laughs a little and shakes her head. "Then, she had a one night stand with a recent Yale Law graduate, and I was the result."

"Still, none of that is _your_ fault." She shrugs and looks over at him, watching as he takes a sip his wine, his thoughts noticeably drifting–but then, before she can ask, he swallows the wine and looks back to her. "Then what happened?"

"Well, her boyfriend found out about the one night stand and my father was from a wealthy family, so her parents and his decided they'd all make the best of it."

"And that's how they married."

"Yes, it is," she confirms. "What she didn't count on was that my father wasn't interested in making millions of his own. He took pro bono cases for people who couldn't afford legal services and was incredibly frugal with his inheritance, thinking the three of us could just live off of that."

"Was that possible?"

She nods, "But we lived more frugally than we had to." She laughs a little. "My mother hated it, and was, apparently led to believe there was less money than there really was." Taking a long sip of wine, she lose herself in her thoughts, remembering how much her life changed in only a few short months. "Then, not long after, my grandmother died and she inherited again… and she bought the house she currently lives in and hired a staff and… pushed all of her hopes and dreams onto me."

"And how did that work out for her?"

Regina grins and clanks her mug against his. "I grew up to be a disappointment."

"Something tells me that's a good thing."

"Some would say that," she replies, shrugging her shoulders. "But a lot of people tell me I'm a lot like her."

Robin shakes her head. "Well, you're not cold or distant," he tells her in a voice that's soft and sincere. "So, think it's safe to say those people are wrong."

"She's always been resilient," Regina muses quietly as she rubs her fingers against the mug. "I guess that's something we have in common."

"But it sounds like you handle it much differently." She looks to him and he grins. "I hope this doesn't offend you…"

"Those sound like famous last words…"

He chuckles softly and shakes his head–and she feels her chest tighten. "I just… you mother sounds like a very selfish person and–"

"That doesn't offend me," Regina says flatly. "She _is_ a selfish person."

"And you're not."

"Thank you," she murmurs softly, not entirely sure she agrees, but willing to accept the compliment. Her cheeks warm and she looks back to her wine, taking a short sip and holding it in her mouth, wanting to change the subject. "So, um… were you close with your parents?"

Robin laughs–and his response is unexpected. "I, too, am a disappointment," he tells her.

It takes a moment, but a smile curls onto her lips and then she laughs out. It's slow and in a burst, and it's not until then that she realizes how drunk she is.

"So, tell me," she begins, clearing her throat at their laughter fades. "Why are you a disappointment."

"Well, I never went to college, for starters."

"And your father was a professor?"

Robin nods. "My mother, too."

"According to them, I take after her alcoholic father," he says, looking momentarily down at his nearly empty mug of wine. "But contrary to what it may seem in this moment, I am not an alcoholic…and I think he just drank at family gatherings to avoid dealing with his pretentious daughter and son-in-law."

"Tell me more about that…"

Robin blinks. "About how I'm not an alcoholic?"

"No," she says, chuckling softly. "About your grandfather."

A smile slowly draws onto his lips, and for a moment, it looks like he's lost in his memories. She waits for him to respond and finally, when it seems he's selected a memory to share, he looks over at her. "He was a park ranger. He worked at one of the upstate parks and he used to bring me with him."

"Parks as in… the forest?"

Robin nods. "I used to spend _hours_ with him, patrolling. It didn't seem like work to me and I liked getting away and losing myself for a little while. Then, when he retired, he opened up a little fishing and bait shop." He grins as he looks over at her. "When he died, he left it to me and I built it up a little."

"Yeah?"

He nods, "Just a little. I sell a bit more than fishing gear and bait." For a moment, she doesn't say anything and he grins. "Whenever I go to work, I can't help but remember him."

"That's sweet."

"The same happens whenever I look at my son."

"And why is that?" she asks, smiling before he's even given her a response.

"Roland was my grandfather's name."

"Awww…"

"I always thought Roland would grow up helping me run the store."

"Who knows? Maybe we he will."

"Not if Marian has anything to say about it."

Regina shrugs, watching as Robin finishes off what's left in his mug. "I think what's more important is what Roland will say about it." She shrugs as he looks over at her, and though her thoughts are muddled, she finds herself thinking about how eager she'd been to forge her own path–how she'd purposely chosen a school her mother didn't approve of, how she'd chosen to date the stable boy who cared for the horse her father had bought for her only a month before he'd died, and how even then, her life turned out so differently than anyone–herself included–had expected. "Life takes us places that no one can anticipate," she says as she looks back to him.

Robin nods. "Like here, for example."

A grin pulls onto her lips. "Not quite the example I was thinking of, but… yeah. Like here."

Reaching out, Robin tucks her hair behind her ear and she can't help but smile as his fingers linger, momentarily twirling one of her curls. She draws in a breath and take shis empty mug from him, and leaning over, she places both mugs on the nightstand beside the bed.

And then, she leans back in.

She pecks his lips once and smiles–her head is spinning, but she leans back in, holding both sides of his face as she kisses him. This time their kisses are sloppier and their hands roam more freely; they're less tentative and more daring, and when he leans back against the pillows and his hand dips beneath her sweatshirt as he pulls her down on top of him, she doesn't stop him and instead craves more.

Somewhere along the way, it occurs to her that this might be a little crazy–that they've only known each other for a few days, she's technically involved with someone and he's probably not completely over his ex-wife, but none of those reasons give her even a moment of pause.

And if what they're doing is crazy or wrong in someway, she doesn't care.

Before his eyes are open, he's aware of the dull aching at his temples–the unfortunate result of all of the mulled wine they drank the night before. And then, as he draws in a breath, he feels Regina laying against him–the very fortunate result of all the wine they'd drank.

A smile edges onto his lips as his eyes open, and looks down at her. Her legs are stretched out over his lap and her cheek is pressed against his chest and his arms are locked around her. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he very clearly remembers when she did–and he chuckles softly to himself as he remembers his disappointment. Shifting her only slightly, he reaches between them and tugs gently at her tank top, covering up her bare stomach and back before drawing the blanket up around her and resting his head atop hers as he looks to the window and watches as it snows.

The snow seems lighter than it did the day before–and he feels an odd mix of emotion. The fact that it's still snowing on Christmas Eve likely means he won't be able to see his son at Christmas; but the fact that it's still snowing means he'll have at least another day with Regina.

Before he can linger for too long on those thoughts, he feels her shift and she burrows into him, burying her face in his shoulder. She groans a little and stretches out her legs–and then she freezes.

"Oh, god…"

"Good morning," he murmurs, lifting his head from hers and loosening his hold on her. Her eyes widen as she looks to him and then quickly, she looks and suddenly, he feels uneasy. And suddenly he's very aware of how drunk she was the night before. "I…um…. I'm sorry…"

She blinks as her eyes dart back to his. "Why are you apologizing. I'm the one who passed out on top of you."

He grins. "I… wasn't sure if you remembered that part."

"I do, unfortunately."

"So, you remember everything leading up to you passing out on top of me." A slight edges onto her lips, and she nods, making little effort to move herself. "I remember there was a lot of kissing and… I think I… I vaguely remember my hand ending up… in your pants."

He grins. "I _vividly_ remember that part."

"I…wasn't sure if that actually happened."

"It did," he nods, "And then you fell asleep."

She nods and her head dips forward as her cheeks flush slightly. "So, you may have noticed that… wine makes me really tired."

"I definitely picked up on that," he tells her, chuckling softly. "And once you're out, you're really out." She laughs and groans, and he feels himself smiling as she cuddles back in. "You know," he says as his arm folds loosely around her, "For someone who claims not to be a cuddler, I find you cuddling up to me quite often."

"I… guess it depends on the situation," she tells him as she tugs the blanket up over her shoulders. "Besides, you're warm."

"I have my uses," he murmurs in reply, hesitating only momentarily before resting his head back down atop hers as they watch it snow–and when she lets out a wistful little sigh, he exactly what she's feeling. "I know I'm a bit of a consolation prize, but–"

"You're not," she says, lifting her head from his shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. "That's not at all what you are."

"I know you'd rather be spending today with Henry, and I… I get it.."

She smiles, and it's a little bit sad. "I know I've said this probably fifteen times already, but I've never not been with him on Christmas and it just feels…" She sighs and looks up at him, seemingly lost for words.

"It's strange. I know."

"I feel guilty…" she murmurs, looking back to him.

"You shouldn't," he tells her, though he completely understands the feeling, his fingers slowly trailing up and down the length of her arm, in a way he hopes is comforting to her. "You can't do anything about the weather."

With a sigh, she nods and pulls herself up and away from him. "I feel guilty because… I don't… I mean…" She sighs again and her face falls into her her hand and he can tell that she's struggling to put her feelings into words and perhaps struggling with the feelings themselves–and he's not quite sure how to respond. So, for a few minutes, they sit together in silence.

There's a part of him that wants to reach out to her–a part of him that wants to pull her back to him and tell her that whatever it is she's feeling is okay, a part of him that wants to kiss her and make her smile and forget about whatever it is that's troubling her, even if it is only for a couple of minutes.

But he doesn't do any of that; instead, he just waits.

"I'm really hungry," she tells him in a quiet voice, letting her eyes just barely meet his before she looks away. "I… just think I need something to eat. Then, I'll be fine."

Robin takes a breath and nods, then puts on a smile–she's not fine, but he's not sure he's in a position to challenge her. "Then, I suppose we should get dressed and go downstairs." He pauses for a moment, the adds, "I think Granny's serving French toast again."

Though she doesn't look back at him, he can see a hint of a grin tug up at the corner of her mouth. "Well, you know how I feel about French toast…"

He laughs a little and nods, watching as she gets out of bed and pads over to her suitcase. He can't help but smile as he watches her squirt a little gel into her hand and bow her head, letting her hair fall forward over her face as her hands scrunch her loose curls. She lifts her head back up, tossing back her hair. She gives it a few more squeezes then then tosses the gel back into her bag, pulling out the same jeans she wore the day before and a long gray cardigan.

She tosses the items over her arm and reaches into her bag, putting out a little container of some sort of cream and expertly opening it with one hand. It rests in her palm as she dabs her fingers in it, then rubs it over her face–and he finds himself oddly amused with her obvious routines.

"What?" She murmurs, looking up at him and catching his gaze. "Did I not rub it in all the way?"

For a moment, he's not sure what to say–and he feels somewhat like he's five years old and has just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "No, you, um… you blended it all in," he tells her, stammering a bit as he looks away and grins. It's odd that he feels so strongly about her after just a few days–and maybe, it's even a little bit crazy. "You just look…"

His voice trails off and he looks back to her–it's strange that after what happened the night before, he'd feel shy about telling her he think she's beautiful or that he thinks that he may be in love with her; but then, the night before had been fueled by a lot of wine and that had likely been the source of his confidence.

"Probably a little on the scary side," she tells him. "I should shower, but I'm–"

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Oh…"

He grins a bit awkwardly as he gets out of bed, not finishing the thought and leaving her to wonder…

He can feel her watching him as he pulls his jeans and a gray thermal shirt from his bag and from the corner of his eye, he can see her fidgeting nervously–and somehow, that sets him at ease and makes him wonder if her feelings for him run as deeply as his.

"We were really drunk last night," she says, almost abruptly just as he turns to face her. "I probably wouldn't have… well, no, I wanted to…at least I did then, but I probably wouldn't have—"

He blinks and suddenly, his stomach drops as his thoughts reel as he thinks back to the night before–how sweet her lips tasted, how warm her body felt next to his, and how much he enjoyed being with her in a more intimate way. "Are you… trying to say you regret what happened?"

"No," she's quick to say. "No, no. It's not that. It's just… it's complicated."

He nods, "The best things usually are."

"Robin…"

"I'm serious," he cuts in, his voice sounding more confident than he anticipated. "Isn't there a saying like that–that the best things in life are the things you have to fight for?"

"I… think it's close to that, but not quite. It's–" She stops and sighs, and a little grin edges onto her lips. "It doesn't actually matter."

"No," he says, "That's not what matters. What matters is…" He draws in a short, deep breath, doing his best not to lose his nerve. "What matters is the fact that I _really_ like you."

He watches as a lopsided little grin edges onto her lips and again, she fidgets nervously. "I like you, too."

"So, just to be sure that I'm not mistaken… I like you and you like me."

"Yes," she says, her voice tentative as she continues to fidget. "But… it's not as simple as that." Her eyes sink closed as she draws in a breath. "Because regardless of the way I feel about you, I'm… involved with someone else." She shrugs. "So, I shouldn't–"

"Do you… want to be in a relationship with him?"

"No," she admits easily. "In fact, the reason he and I were meeting for lunch the other day was because I was going to end things." Her eyes press closed and she sighs. "I spent _hours_ that morning rehearsing what I was going to say to him. I was finally going to do it. But then FedEx messed up the shipment and…" Her eyes open and they're filled with regret. "And so, I didn't. Instead, I focused all of my energy and attention on finding another Nerf gun and now… Graham is with my son at my mother's house, waiting for me."

"So, what I'm hearing," he begins, taking another short breath as his heart pounds and he shifts himself toward her, "Is that your relationship is all but over, that you're only in a relationship with someone else because of a technicality."

"I've had so many chances to end it and… I never did it. I kept thinking that things would get better or something would change or he'd do something that would make me feel obligated to–"

"You shouldn't feel _obligated_ to stay with someone."

"And now, I'm just kicking myself."

"Well, don't do that," he murmurs as a grin tugs onto his lips and he reaches out, touching his fingers to her elbow. "You've already spent a good portion of one day injured and–"

Her laugh cuts him off, and he can't help but smile.

"Come here," he murmurs as his hand slides to hers. He gives her hand a little tug, pulling her into a loose hug. "Sometimes life gets messy. Sometimes breaks aren't clean and sometimes we need to be knocked in the head before we realize what we're supposed to do."

"Is that what this is?" she asks as she pulls back. "Is this life knocking me in the head?"

"I think life knocked both of us in the head this time around."

A grin twists onto her lips. "I think we just have hangovers."

At that, he laughs–and again, he wants to kiss her. "I've got an idea…"

"Do you? Why am I not surprised?"

He nods, "There's not much you can do to change your situation right now, but–"

"I could return one of his calls…"

Robin shakes his head. "Breaking up with someone over the phone is shitty."

Her brow arches. "Cheating on someone is shittier."

"You didn't intend to…"

"But I did… or I _am_."

Taking a breath, he nods. "And what's done is done. We can't change it now and quite frankly, I wouldn't want to."

"So, what are you suggesting?" she asks, her brow arching as she looks up at him. "What's your bright idea?"

A coy little grin edges onto his lips. "I think we should just… see where this takes us."

"As in…"

"As long as we're here at this inn, we just keep…"

"Letting what happened yesterday happen?"

"Yes," he says easily. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

"Robin…"

"We can't change it, Regina," he says again. "And you've already admitted that you wouldn't want to."

"Yeah, but…"

"You were already planning on breaking up with him after Christmas. That's in _two_ days, Regina."

"I know, I just…" She sighs, looking up at him skeptically. "You really want to be in that position? I can't _ask_ you to have an _affair_ with me, that's–"

"What if I volunteer?" A smile edges into his lips and he gives her hand a soft little squeeze. "I realize that this whole situation is…."

"Surreal?"

"Yeah, but… maybe… maybe this is how things were supposed to work out."

Her brow arches. "I'm supposed to be cheating on my boyfriend?"

"No," he's quick to say as his smile brightens. "With you finding something–or _someone_ –that makes you happy."

Her cheeks flush a little and she nods. "I expected to be absolutely miserable these past few days," she admits, drawing in a deep breath then slowly exhaling it. "But it's been the complete opposite of that."

"It has been pretty wonderful, hasn't it?"

She nods and she looks up at him, almost shyly. "I don't remember the last time I felt this way."

"Neither do I," he tells her sincerely. "And it'd be a shame to let that go, just because of poor timing and a technicality."

She nods and takes a half step in, leaning onto the tips of her toes as she presses quick kiss to his lips. "I'm going to go change," she tells him, "And then I think we should go down to breakfast because I really am starving… and I really am hungover."

He feels his stomach flutter and his brows arch. "So, this means…"

"I want to see where this goes," she tells him, taking a step back. "And if you're willing to stay in this little bubble with me, and ignore the rest of the world… then, I'd be an idiot to turn you down."

He watches her disappear into the bathroom and he quickly changes into fresh clothes. He was lying to himself before when he told himself he was falling in love with her– that had been a defensive mechanism to give himself some semblance of control, to give himself an out if it turned out she didn't feel the same way– he was absolutely, without question in love with her.

Robin threads his fingers through hers as they walk down to breakfast and once again, sit down at the little table by the fireplace. Granny comes over to their table, almost proudly announcing that this year's storm had broken all sorts of records, noting that while the snow had slowed, the winds had picked up and some reports were saying that some of the drifts were nearly ten feet.

"Sounds like the perfect day to cuddle up by the fire," she says, grinning as she looks between them–and Regina feels her cheeks warm as a smirk edges onto Robin's lips as he blinks down at the menu. "But before you do that, you have to eat." Pulling out her notepad, she looks between them. "And maybe drink a whole pot of coffee."

They both ordered the French toast and Granny pours them both some coffee, then leaves the pot on a trivet on the table before disappearing into the kitchen–and when Regina looks up from her menu, Robin is grinning at her.

"She knows we're hungover."

Robin grins and shrugs, and she wishes she could take things as easily as he does–that every time someone pointed out a little detail or gave her a suggestive look, she didn't take it to heart and wonder how badly they were judging her for it. "She's right, you know," he tells her as his eyes meet hers. "Today would be the perfect day to cuddle up by the fire."

A grin twists onto her lips. "I _don't_ cuddle, remember?"

"Oh, right…" he replies, rolling his eyes. "Somehow, I'd managed to forget that." He adds a little cream this coffee and she watches as the creamer creates little clouds–and she feels incredibly relaxed, so unlike how she was feeling less than an hour ago. "Cuddling or not, we could make a second date out of it."

Her brow arches. "We had a _first_ date?"

Grinning, Robin nods. "Yes, last night," he tells her. "You bought me dinner and fell asleep giving me a handjob."

"I… don't know what the worst part of that is," she tells him in a low voice, blinking as their eyes meet. "The fact I gave you a handjob on what was apparently our first date or the fact that I _fell asleep_ doing it."

He laughs a little and shrugs. "You'd had a lot to drink…"

"Such as class act," she mutters as her eyes roll. "My mother would be so proud."

"Oh, come on," he says, reaching across the table and giving her fingers a quick squeeze. "Yesterday evening was wonderful–for a lot of reasons." Her eyes roll, but though she tries, she can't stop the grin that edges onto her lips as his thumb rubs over her knuckles. "You chose an incredible meal and paired a tasty wine with it. We talked and we kissed, and yes, we fooled around a little bit, and then we fell asleep in front of a warm fire. It was nearly a perfect evening"

"You don't make it sound so bad."

"Because it wasn't _bad_ –not in the least."

"Like I said, it was a wonderful evening."

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth and her eyes narrow as she reaches for her coffee. "What would have made it a perfect night?"

"Hmm?"

"You said last night was almost perfect," she says, taking a quick sip of the coffee as a grin edges onto her lips. "What would have made it perfect?"

"Oh," he breathes out–considering. "Well, for starters, we wouldn't have been here."

"No?" she asks, her brow arching. "Where would we have been?"

"I'd have invited you over," he begins, easily able to picture it. "I'd have cooked you dinner and–"

"You cook?"

A grin pulls onto his lips. "I have a few dishes that I can prepare–though, I have to admit, I'm not sure anything I make would be quite as good as that lobster and risotto."

Leaning forward, she rests her elbows on the table. "So, what would you have cooked?"

"Well," he begins, narrowing his eyes in consideration. "I'd probably roast a chicken," he says, nodding confidently. "That's my best dish."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "I make it with carrots and potatoes, and I've got a nice pinot noir in my cellar that I've been saving for a special occasion."

"And having me over for dinner would be a special occasion?"

"Of course it would be," he says, his grin brightening. "And, I have to tell you I make a pretty amazing apple cobbler." At that, she brightens and he chuckles softly. "We'd make a night of it."

"Would we?"

He laughs a little and nods. "Well, with you coming all the way up from Manhattan."

"That sounds like it'd be a lovely evening," she tells him–her heart aching and her stomach fluttering–it's amazing how he seems able to put a positive spin on everything. "Do you think this afternoon can top it?"

Robin's eyes narrow. "That sounds like a challenge."

"It's whatever you want it to be," she says easily as she leans back–watching the way his eyes glimmer and she can't help but feel excitement bubble up with in her. She chuckles softly as as he makes a face at her, attempting to look either pensive or secretive, but only succeeding in looking uncharacteristically smug.

They eat their breakfast, chatting lightly about the weather and their sons–speculating about whether or not they're still sleeping or if they've spent the morning making snow angels and leaping into snow drifts. When they're done Granny comes and clears their plates away–and Robin orders two hot apple cider to be sent up to their room.

"How did you know I love apple cider?" she asks, her heartbeat quickening as she reaches for his hand as they walk toward the stairs.

"An educated guess," he admits, chuckling softly when she looks over at him. "It didn't escape my notice that, if given the choice, you've chosen apple flavoring or apple topping… and when I mentioned the cobbler, your entire face lit up." They reach the top of the stirs and she tugs him toward their room. "And I couldn't help but notice there were apples floating in that mulled wine you ordered last night."

"I told you about my father, and how we used to go riding…"

"Yes–on Saturdays, wasn't it?"

A grin twists onto her lips as she lets go of his hand and swipes the key in the door. "You've got a good memory," she tells him, looking back over her shoulder as she pushes into the room. "In the fall, we'd always ride over to the cider mill for cider and donuts." He steps in behind her and closes the door. "I've always taken Henry on the first day of fall–and I think I enjoy it more than he does."

"He doesn't share your love of apples?"

Her eyes narrow and she grins. "Not quite."

Robin flops back on the bed and before she can sit, Ruby knocks on the door. Regina opens it and smiles graciously as Ruby hands her the tray–and settled between the mugs of cider is a bottle of rum. Her brows arch as she looks back to him. "Are you trying to get me drunk again?" Her brow arches. "Maybe hoping I'd finish off that handjob that I… so rudely didn't finish last night."

He laughs out and shakes his head, and she feels a laugh bubbling up from her core. "The rum was not my doing," he tells her, sitting up. "But I won't complain about it, even if it is ten-thirty in the morning."

Regina shrugs and sets the tray down. "It's not like there's much else to do."

He nods and sits back, patting the empty space beside him–and she can't help but grin as she hands him one of the mugs of cider, then sets the tray down on the nightstand and grab her own mug in one hand and the bottle of rum in the other.

"I can't believe it's still snowing," she murmurs, handing him the bottle of rum as she settles back against the pillows at his side. A smile draws onto her lips as his arm folds around her shoulders. "In a way, I'm… kind of relieved."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, pouring some of the rum into her mug and then pouring some into his own. "Why's that?"

For a moment, she doesn't reply–instead, she leans into him and takes a sip of her cider. "I don't remember the last time I could just… relax." She turns her eyes upward and looks to him. "Don't get me wrong, I _love_ being Henry's mom, but I'm always on the go–taking him to soccer practice and boy scouts, robotics club and writing club and…" She sighs. "Even on breaks, he has group projects and practices and I–"

"Never get a moment to yourself."

"Yeah…" Grinning, she takes another sip of the cider. "So what would we have done after dinner?"

"Hmm?"

"After the roast chicken and the pinot noir… what would have been next?"

Robin chuckles and takes a long sip of the cider. "Well," he begins. "I'd have built up a fire and opened up a second bottle of wine–maybe a dessert wine…"

"We finished a whole bottle of wine with dinner?" she asks, looking up at him. "I'm noticing I've got a pattern of drunkenness…"

"Well, we did a lot of talking between dinner and dessert," he assures her, as he takes a quick sip of his cider. "Anyway, we'd settle by the fire and bring a new bottle of wine and the rest of the cobbler with us, and I'd put on some soft music and…" His voice trails off and he grins, "And we'd see where the night took us."

"I see," she murmurs softly, as she rubs her fingers across the bottom of the mug. "That sounds… nice."

Robin nods. "You seemed to have a good time."

"Did I?' She laughs. "That's good to know."

"And then in the morning, I'd make you breakfast and beg you to stay longer…"

"And I can't?"

"No," he says, sighing a little. "You'd have a long drive back and you have to pick up Henry and… you'd assure me we'd do it all again soon."

She nods and her eyes close. "Maybe the next time, you'd come to me."

"I'd like that."

"Me too," she admits quietly as she takes another sip of cider–wishing it were as simple as he made it seem.

They sit together for awhile, just talking–they talk about the boys and their various activities, they make loose plans neither expect to pan out, and they make the occasional comment about the weather. Robin orders them more cider–this time ordering a whole pot.

When Granny delivers it, she gives them a little smile–shrugging her eyebrows suggestively as she asks how their enjoying the rum. Robin murmurs something she can't hear, and though she cranes her neck, she misses Granny's reply.

"What was that about?"

"What?" he asks, turning back to her and grinning coyly. "What was _what_?"

"You two got all whispery."

"Oh," he murmurs as he carries the pot of cider over to the nightstand and reaching out, he takes her mug and refills it both with cider and rum. "I was just asking about a radio station… nothing too secretive." He holds her mug out to her and she smiles as she accepts it, slowly breathing in the warm steam and spicy apple smell–and when she looks up, she can't help but notice the way he's looking at her. "Marian actually told me about this AM station out here that reads a Christmas story every year on Christmas Eve. It starts around noon."

"That has to be soon," she murmurs as she takes a sip of the cider.

"Ten minutes…"

"And when you say a Christmas story, do you mean… a story set at Christmas time or the story about Ralphie and his Red Ryder BB Gun?"

She watches as he pours himself some rum and cider, and a grin pulls onto his lips. "A story set at Christmas."

"Ah, that's… probably better."

"I hope," he says, chuckling softly. "According to Marian it's a story called _The Last Noel_."

"I haven't heard of it…"

"Neither have I," he admits, shrugging as he takes a quick sip of cider and moves to the radio beside the TV, turning the dials until he reaches the station.

She watches as he tosses a couple of pillows into the window seat and then he waves her over–and together, they settle in, ready to listen. Robin's back rests against the wall and she rests against him–and when his hand slides across her stomach as he holds her loosely, she can't help the smile that stretches over her lips. Her eyes close and the story starts and he rests his head atop hers–and in that moment, she finds herself thinking this is something she could get used to

They each spend a bit longer on the phone with their sons than they have in the previous days–and when they hang up, they're both a little quiet. Neither has to say anything–they both know how the other is feeling and why. Though they've been putting on brave faces being away from their children at Christmas was difficult–and now that it was Christmas Eve, it was somehow much harder to do.

He was glad that Roland was having a good time with Marian and Mulan. Both Marian's parents and Mulan's parents had arrived that afternoon, and each set of grandparents had show up with a sack of presents–and both had told Roland that Santa had _accidentally_ left the presents at their respective houses. Marian had put Roland on the phone–and again he was brief, and didn't seem at all sad that Robin wasn't there. Of course, he was glad that Roland wasn't upset at Christmas–he certainly didn't want him to be pining for him or constantly wishing for something that may or may not work out. But at the same time, he hated the idea that Roland would grow up without him–and this seemed to be the beginning of it.

When he'd stepped out of the bathroom, Regina was sitting on the bed with her knees pulled up in her chin–and though she tries to hide it, there are tears in her eyes.

"They're not home," she murmurs softly, her voice barely audible as she looks to him–and before he can ask, she adds, "Apparently, they're spending Christmas Eve with the Blanchards."

"Oh Regina…"

"And I know that means Leopold is going be there, and Mary Margaret and I'm just–he doesn't really know what happened. We don't talk about about it. He's never asked and I've certainly never wanted to bring it up."

Sighing, he crosses the room toward her and sits down beside her on the edge of the bed. He's not sure what to say and he doubts that there really is anything he could say that would make any of this better or easier for her. "I'm sorry," he murmurs as his hand presses gently to her back. "Is there any chance you could call Henry or–"

"I don't think he took his phone… or he forgot to charge it," she says, swallowing hard as she sucks in a breath. "He's not responding to either calls or texts."

"And I don't suppose there's a chance he'd…have a good time?"

She shrugs. "I suppose it's possible." Her head falls to his shoulder and she releases a shaky breath. "I've tried _so_ hard to shield him from everything–to shield him from Leopold and that family, and despite all of that… everything could be undone in a single evening."

For a moment, they just sit together in silence. He rubs her back and she tries to hold back her tears–and he feels an indescribable mix of emotions. He's angry for her–angry on her behalf, knowing exactly what it feels like to feel like you're losing control–but more than that, he wants to fix it for her and he feels frustrated knowing that that is impossible.

"Maybe we should stay in for dinner," he says after a couple of minutes pass. "We could order in and–"

"No," she interjects, lifting her head from his shoulder. "I need to do something… I need to take my mind off of this." She offers him a sheepish little grin and she shrugs. "I'll go crazy if I don't."

"Alright," he replies, taking a breath as he nods. "We'll go down."

Rising from the bed, he offers her his hand–and in returns, she smiles softly, if not a little sadly, and places her fingers in his palm. He tugs her to him and leads her out of the room, still wishing there was something more that he could do or say, something that could, at the very least, erase her worry.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, he looks to her, silently asking if she's sure about this–and with a little girl and a half of a nod, she takes a step forward and they walk into the dining area. Granny spots them first and waves them in, smiling broadly in a red dress with a green apron and flashing light bulb jewelry. Robin's widen and his brows arch as he looks from Granny's outfit to Regina, and he sees a hint of a smile curling onto her lips–and he feels a little shiver of victory run through him.

Granny seats them at the little table by the fire and hands them the menu, and they both order the pot roast and pair it with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon–and as soon as Granny leaves their table, he watches the way Regina's eyes fall.

"We can get it to-go," he reminds her, slowly reaching out and taking her hand, giving it a tight little squeeze. "You don't have to put on a brave face."

"Yes, I do."

"Not for me–"

"For me," she cuts in. "When Leopold sued me for custody of Henry– _full_ custody of _my son_ –I couldn't stand it. I barely survived it, and I can feel myself going down that dark path again, and I just… I can't do that. I can't do it again."

He blinks and nods–and he wants to ask what she means exactly, what sort of _dark place_ she's talking about, but he doesn't. It's not his place to ask and if he she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. "Okay," he murmurs. "But if you change your mind–"

"You'll be the first to know."

Nodding, he takes a breath. "So, what should we talk about? What'll take your mind off of this."

"Nothing really," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. "But I'd still like to try…"

He nods, thinking for a moment, wracking his brain to come up with a topic–and then, after what feels like an eternity, he settles on something. "Aside from the Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster–"

"In red."

A grin tugs onto his lips, "So, aside from the Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster _in red_ , what else did you get Henry for Christmas?" For a moment, he wonders if he should have asked something–anything–else, and he wonders if talking about Henry might be a little too hard in the present moment, and he worries that it won't take her mind off anything at all, but instead will focus it on the one thing she'd rather not think about.

But then her eyes light up and a smile edges its way onto her lips–and her her whole face brightens, the way it always does when she talks about her son. "Well, the Nerf gun was _the thing_ this year, but it also wasn't very expensive or big and… I usually really do up Christmas for him."

"That doesn't surprise me at all."

She laughs a little and shakes her head, "It's getting harder though, as he gets older, so I got him… a lot of little things–gift cards to stores he likes, an iTunes card, some clothes he'll barely look at… but I think the other thing he's really going to love is this video game set I got for his Xbox."

"Knowing nothing other than you got him an Xbox game, I think you're right."

"Right now, he's really into _classics_."

"Oh, god," Robin murmurs. "This is going to make me feel old, isn't it?"

She nods. "I got him the…" Her voice trails off and her eyes narrow, as she tries to remember. "The.. Sega Mega Ultimate Collection… or maybe it's the Epic Collection… whatever it is, it's the one with, um… that little blue hedgehog."

"Sonic," Robin sighs. "And I _do_ feel old."

She rolls her eyes and laughs softly to herself. "I never remember that."

"You don't seem like the video game type."

"I'm not," she tells him, shaking her head as her eyes press closed. "You should have seen the look on the sales guy's face when I described it to him." Opening her eyes, she shakes her head. "After he rang me up, he told me he hoped my _grandson_ enjoyed the games."

"Ouch," Robin hisses, his face scrunching. "But you _have_ to know that you _don't_ look like a _grandmother_."

Her brow arches. "I'd had a _really_ rough day."

He laughs again, and he can't help but notice the way her shoulders seems more relaxed–and though that same sad look still rests in her eyes, it seems a little dimmer.

"What about you?" she asks, "You mentioned that Spiderman costume, but I saw your cart at the toy store and it was _overflowing_." She grins as he sighs and shakes his head. "What else are you looking forward to seeing Roland open?"

"First," he begins, looking very serious as his eyes meet hers. "I am very well aware that my son is fucking spoiled, so the other thing I am really anxious to give him wasn't in that cart."

"No?"

He shakes his head. "Marian is going to kill me for this one, but… I bought him a tablet."

"My son is nine and has his own iPhone, so that little confession wasn't necessary."

He grins. "I just figured… he's going to spending a lot of time between Marian's place and mine, and that'll mean either a lot of time in the backseat or on a plane, and it could make that trip a little more bearable." He shrugs, "And he wouldn't ever have to be without his favorite books or games or– not see his friends."

A knowing smile edges onto her lips. "And he'll never be without _you_."

Robin nods and he feels his chest tighten. "Yeah…"

"I… never asked you how your call with Roland went," she says suddenly, her eyes widening a little. "I was so worried about–"

"You have reason to worry," he cuts in. "And my phone call was… like all of the others."

It's only then that he realizes he's still holding onto her hand–because she turns it over and squeezes it. "He's young, Robin. He doesn't mean to hurt you when he doesn't want to talk on the phone."

"In my head, I know that…"

"But your heart is a lot less logical."

He nods. "Roland was excited to see his grandparents– _both_ sets them."

"He thinks of Mulan's parents as his grandparents," she says, sighing as she shakes her head. "I'm willing to bet that stings a bit."

Again, he nods. "It shouldn't. They're wonderful people and they absolutely adore my son. I should be glad he's surrounded by so many people who love him."

"Another situation of the heart being less logical."

He nods. "They're doing dinner and brought him a ton of presents–and Santa specifically told them that Roland could open them on Christmas Eve since he's been such a good boy this year."

He watches as she takes a breath. "He's going to be just as thrilled to see you."

"If I arrive…"

"We won't be stuck here forever," she tells him–and then her face falls.

"That…makes me a little sad," he tells her, looking down at their entwined hands as he rubs his thumb against the back of her wrist.

"Me too," she admits–and then, before she can say anymore, Granny starts toward their table with their food, and Regina pulls away her hand.

Granny's brow arches knowingly as she sets their plates down in front of them and pours them some wine–and with a sigh, she tells them that it's nearly stopped snowing. Their eyes meet when she says it, and they exchange sad little smiles at the realization that their time together in their little bubble is starting to dwindle.

Granny leaves them to their meal, and they don't say any more about it–instead, they spend the time swapping stories of Christmases past with their sons between bites of pot roast and sips of wine.

When dinner is done, Robin tops off their glasses–and just as he's setting the bottle down, _White Christmas_ begins to play.

"This is one of my favorites."

"Is it?" she asks, leaning back as she picks up her glass by its stem. "I've never really cared for Christmas songs. I can tolerate them for one, _maybe two_ days a year." A grin twists onto her lips as his brow arches. "And tonight falls into the _maybe two_ spot."

"Oh, right after Thanksgiving this is all I listen to."

Her eyes widen. "I could never be in a car with you."

He laughs out–a bit too loudly. "I don't know, there's something about it that just… puts me in a good mood."

Regina blinks and takes a sip of her wine. "I think this is the first time that _you're_ more drunk than me."

His eyes narrow as he looks to his wine. "How's that possible?

"You drank three glasses and I've only drank one."

"Oh…"

She shrugs. "You did the pouring."

"But you never ran out," he says, his brow furrowing as he looks from his wine back to her. "I'd have shared."

"Unlike hard cider and white wine, I drink red wine really slowly. I like to savor it."

Shrugging his shoulders, he takes long sip of his wine and lets Bing Crosby's voice soothe him. "We should dance," he says, setting down his glass as her eyes widen. "Do you like to dance?"

"Not in public."

"It'd be fun."

Again, her eyes widen. "No one else is dancing."

Robin blinks as he looks around–and then a grin twists onto his lips. "Can we compromise?"

"That depends," she says as her eyes narrow. "What's the compromise?"

"We could go upstairs and dance in the privacy of our room."

At that, she laughs, shaking her head as she takes another sip of wine. "You really want to go upstairs and dance to Christmas music."

He shrugs, "Sounds like a completely wonderful third date to me." Her lips part as though she's about to say something, but he laughs out and he's only vaguely aware of how loud he is. "I mean, it'd be a lot harder for you to fall asleep on me if we're dancing."

Regina's eyes widen with indignation and he can't help but chuckle at the way her shoulders stiffen. "I'll give you last night, but I fell asleep for, like, three minutes during that reading."

"You still fell asleep…"

"Barely."

He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. "Still…"

She rolls her eyes and pushes away from the table. "So, should we go up?"

"Will you dance with me?"

"Does it have to be to Christmas music?"

"Yes." Again her eyes roll, but there's a hint of a smile hat tugs up from the corner of her mouth, giving her away. "Come on," he murmurs as he stands and offers her his hand. She sighs, but stands up and takes his hand–and as soon as his fingers fold around hers, he tugs her to him and his lips crash down onto hers.

His tongue parts her lips and whimpers a little into his mouth, kissing him back with equal fervor–and then, likely realizing where they are, she steps back and her cheeks flush. He grins and she giggles softly to herself, and then, shaking her head, she pulls him toward the stairs.

They don't dance for very long–almost as soon as her arms link around his neck and his hands find her waist, she leans in, brushing her lips over his. He smiles against her mouth as her tongue swirls around his–and then, he presses in harder. His hand finds the small of her back and he draws her closer. His fingers press into her sweater and when his hand pushes upward and his fingers come in contact with her skin, she sighs with content approval.

She pulls herself back just enough to suck on his bottom lip, opening her eyes and grinning coyly as he watches him swallow–and she can tell she's starting to have an effect on him.

Her hands fall down his shoulders, her fingers trailing lightly over his arms and her fingers push at the thermal fabric covering them. His free arm bends as his fingers thread into her hair and she feels his bicep tighten. A soft little shudder escapes her as her fingers press harder against the fabric that covers his muscular ams–a detail of his body she's spent an inordinate amount of time fantasising about.

She can't linger on that thought for very long–not when his lips have recaptured hers and his hand is pressing at the back of her head, drawing her drawing her deeper in as he kisses her harder.

Her hand falls to his hip and then slides downward over the back of his jeans, rubbing over his ass.

Smilingly against his mouth, she pulls back and breaks the kiss. Robin blinks a couple of times as her smile grows coy–and reaches down to the hem of her sweater, she tugs it up and off and drops it to the floor. His eyes immediately fall to her breasts, covered by a lacy cream colored bra–a bra she usually hates, but given the way that he looks at her in it, she can't help but feel desirable in it. He licks his lips and takes a breath as she stands there, just out of his reach.

Robin swallows hard–almost audibly–as he watches her fingers twist around the button at the top of her jeans. "Are you really just going to stand there?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him as she tugs down her zipper.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Tugging off his thermal, he tosses it aside, just before his arm loops around her hip. He draws her back to him and his lips come crashing down onto hers–and she smiles into the kiss as her hands rest on his now bare biceps.

She gasps as he lifts her–his arm tightening around her as he lifts her–and spins them both over toward the bed. She lets out a shallow breath as her heartbeat quickens and he lays her down on the mattress. He pulls down her jeans and she kicks them off–and no sooner than she does, his hands are pushing apart her knees.

Her stomach flutters and she catches her lip between her teeth as she pulls herself up onto her elbows and watches as his hands stroke her leg–first sliding up over her knees, then to the tops of her thighs and finally to her inner thighs, his fingers coming so close to where she wants them.

"Your skin is so smooth," he tells her, his voice huskier than usual as he looks up at her. "And soft."

"Wax does wonders," she tells him wryly, swallowing hard as fingers touch along the edge of her lacy underwear.

He grins and nods, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her knee as he slowly looks up at her, watching the way she bites down impatiently on her lip.

Robin dots quick kisses up her inner thigh as his fingers slide up her hips, looping into the waistband of her underwear. Her breath catches in her chest as he grins coyly up at her, slowly pulling the lacy garment down her legs. It takes almost everything in her not to kick them off and pull him to her–but she resists the urge, and when he leans in and swipes his tongue between her lips and lets it swirl around her clit, she has a feeling she'll be glad that she didn't.

Swallowing hard, she takes a breath and her head falls back–and Robin's tongue gets more daring.

A smile stretches across her lips–he's good at this, she finds herself thinking, as his lips suck harder at her clit.

Her breath hitches as he pulls back, only enough to drag his tongue down the length of her. She sighs–moaning a little–as he does it again and again.

Robin pushes in a finger and she sucks in a little breath as he pumps it slowly in and out of her–letting it slide in slowly, then curling it up inside of her before pulling it back and starting all over again. He does it a few times before inserting a second finger and her hips start to move against him, rolling rhythmically with his fingers. She gasps as he pushes in a third–and she feels him laugh against her as reaches down, twisting her fingers into his hard as her hips arch upward.

She can feel her orgasm building–with each swipe of his tongue and every touch of his hand, she edges closer and closer–and then, as all three fingers dip back inside of her and curl forward, his tongue flicks hard over her clit and she screams out. Her back arches up and her fingers tighten as his teeth just barely graze her, but nonetheless send a jolt through her.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," she manages to breath out, her voice husky and low. "Fuck…"

He doesn't let up as she writhes–instead his fingers move faster and his lips suck harder–and then, she explodes. Her movements are nearly involuntary, and she shudders and bucks against his hands and face, barely able to stand it, but not wanting to push him away.

Finally, his tongue and fingers slow–and she finds herself nearly gasping for air.

Robin pulls away from her, trailing soft kisses down her thighs. Turning her head, she watches as he pulls off his jeans and casts them aside–and then, he grins at her. She can't help but smile back–and she feels a little shy–as he place a knee onto the bed and stretched out beside her.

She rolls onto her side and pushes her hand up across his cheek, smiling as his beard tickles her fingers. He smiles back as he leans in, catching her bottom lip between his–and as she pushes herself forward, he does the same, rolling her onto her back and pinning her down beneath him.

Pulling his face down to hers, she kisses him–soft at first, and then more passionately. Robin's arm loops under her leg and his finger press into the back of her thigh–and difficult to think of anything other than how good it feels to be with him the way, to be kissing him and so close to losing herself in him.

Her hands slides down his chest and stomach, and she grins against his mouth as the tips of her fingers touch to the elastic band of his boxer-briefs. He groans as his lips slide to her jaw, and his breath catches as her hand slides down and her fingers wrap around his cock. With her free hand, she tugs at the boxer-briefs and he does the same, hastily pulling them down to his thighs before wriggling out of them–and she can't help but laugh as he squirms against her.

"If I was a less secure man," he murmurs, flicking against her earlobe as he rolls off of her and settles onto his side, "That might bother me." She blinks and looks down between them, watching as her hand slides slowly–and almost teasingly–up and down his shaft. "But I swear, if you fall asleep again…"

At that she laughs out and she leans in, pecking his lips. "I won't. I promise."

"I might develop some sort of complex…"

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" she murmurs, leaning closer and pressing her lips to his, her tongue parting his lips as his hand tangles in her hair. "You taste so good," she tell him, her head falling back as his lips slide to her neck. "So good…"

"Mmm…" He breathes out, swallowing hard as he groans. "Oh, god…"

She pushes at his shoulder and he rolls onto his back. She lets go of his cock–a bit reluctantly, giving it a few last strokes as her eyes meet his–and a grin draws on to his lips.

She can feel him watching her as she climbs on top of him, kneeling over him as she smiles. Her throat tightens a little as he reaches out, pressing his palm to her stomach and pushing it slowly upward until his fingertips graze the lace of her bra.

"You're a bit overdressed for the occasion," he tell her, arching his brow as their eyes meet. "Though, you do look ravishing in it…"

"Mm, I'm sure," she laughs, looking down at herself. "Not exactly the lingerie I'd have chosen." His hand grips at her side, pressing gently into her ribs. "I guess it doesn't matter though," she murmurs, her brow arching as their eyes meet again. "It'll only end up on the floor."

"Right…"

"So, do you want to do the honors or should I?"

"You," he tells her, letting out a shaky breath. "I… want to watch."

Her cheeks warm a little and she nods–then, taking a short breath, she reaches behind herself and squeezes the clasp, popping it open. She feels the bra loosen and she grins, watching the way his eyes fall from hers and watching as the straps fall down her arms. Pulling the garment away, she drops it to the floor and straightens her shoulders–unable not to notice the way his cock twitches with anticipation of what's soon to come.

Swallowing hard, he sits up and his arms loop under her knees, pulling her down into his lap as his arms wrap around her. His erection presses into her thigh–and she can feel how wet she is, how much she wants him…

Lifting herself up a little, she rubs herself back and forth against his cock–and then, finally, she positions herself just above him and his hands guide her hips back down. A low moan escapes her as her fills her–and for a moment, she's content to stay as they are with her sitting in his lap and his cock filling her.

He waits–and she can tell it's hard for him–but he waits until she's ready for more.

"Lay back," she murmurs after a couple of minutes–and she grins as he does, his hands still resting on her hips as she lifts herself slightly and lowers herself back down. She does it again and again, and her hands slides back against his legs, holding onto him as she rides him.

Her head falls back and her eyes close, and a shaky breath escapes her–he feels so fucking good.

She gasps a little as his fingers press to her clit–hard and firm as he rubs in circular motions.

Her breath becomes shorter and more labored, and her movements slower as she feels a second orgasm building. She slides down onto him and one of his fingers slides upward. His thumb and forefinger roll her clit as his middle middle finger presses down firmly above it–and she's not sure what it is about that particular combination, but it sends her over the edge as an orgasm ripples through her.

Robin's fingers knead at her hip as her breathing returns to a more normal pace. His hips begin to move and a grin tugs onto his lips–and leaning forward, she lays on top of him. Her tongue traces his lips and he tries to catch it, grinning and laughing every time that he fails, until finally, she lets him succeed. The kiss is warm and soft, somehow matching his slow rhythmic thrusts.

Slowly but surely his thrusts become hard and faster, and his arms wrap around her back as he flips her over–and she can't help but laugh out at the unexpected move. He laughs, too, and then he kisses her–peppering kisses over her cheek and jaw, and down her neck and to her shoulders–and his hips continue to move. His pace quickens and his thrusts get shorter and harder–and his breath grows increasingly ragged, until finally he explodes and she's flooded with his warmth.

Her fingers trail up and down his back, her nails lightly grazing his skin as she waits for him to come down from his high. His lips settle at the crook of her neck, kissing lazily–and then, after a few moments, he rolls off of her and lays at her side.

Reaching to the foot of the bed, Regina pulls the quilt up around then and edges closer–and she feels her eyelids growing heavier and heavier with every passing second.

Her eyes catch a glimpse of the alarm clock on the nightstand at his side of the bed–and a smile curls onto her lips. It's past midnight–it's Christmas morning.

Turning his head, he looks at the clock and then back to her, and a groggy little grin tugs up at the corners of his mouth. "Happy Christmas, Regina" he tells her as he leans in and pecks her lips.

"Merry Christmas, Robin," she murmurs back, grinning as she settles her head on his chest and closes her eyes.

It can't be later than five when a chill runs through him and his eyes flutter open.

It's still dark outside–the moon is high and the sky is nearly pitch black, and from the reflection on the window panes, he can see that the fire has dwindled. And then, he feels her shiver and nuzzle closer, and it's only then that he realizes the night before was real, and not part of some wonderful but far-fetched dream.

A smile pulls onto his lips as he looks down at her–her cheeks is pressed to his chest and his hand rests on her bare back. He can feels her heart beating and the warmth of he breath, and when she shivers again, he reaches down and pulls the blanket up around her. His hand rubs in circles over her back as he tries to warm her–and when he feels her stir, he pulls his hand back.

"What time is it?" she asks, in a groggy voice as she presses closes to him and pulls the blanket it her chin. "It can't be morning…"

"I don't know," he murmurs. "The sun's not up yet."

"Then why are you awake?"

"I was cold and–"

Her head lifts from his chest and even in the darkness, he can see her eyes widnen. "Did I steal all the blankets?"

"No…"

She pulls herself up a little. "And you can't be comfortable with me–"

"No, no, no," he says as his hand presses to her back, guiding her back down to him. "Stay."

"I'm just going to the other side of the bed…"

"I'd… rather you not," he tells her as she rolls onto her stomach and rests her hand and chin on his chest. "I like having you close… it's warmer."

"Warmer…"

"Body heat, and all that…" She chuckles softly and his fingers tentatively push into her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "We should try to get a little more sleep."

"I don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep?"

"No?" he asks, letting the back of her fingers linger at her jaw. "You can't give me that line about not sleeping well. I won't believe it."

"And why is that?"

"Because you've slept perfectly fine since we've been here." He grins. "And before I woke you, you were sleeping perfectly soundly."

"That's not usually the case."

"No?"

"No," she tells him, her voice absent and distracted as she shakes her head. She bends forward pressing a kiss to his chest as her hand slides over his hip, and his breath catches as her palm slides up his cock. "Besides," she murmurs as her hand curls around him. "I think there are much better uses of our time."

Her hand continues to stroke him–and she pushes herself upward, leaning in and catching his lips between hers. His cock hardens in her hand, he lets out a shaky breath as she kneads his balls before letting her hand slide back up, and round the tip before repeating the motions again and again.

Every time he's close to coming, she slows her movements–bringing him right up to the edge, then drawing him back, teasing him in the best possible way.

He groans as her lips pull away from his, trailing warm, wet kisses his throat and chest–and then she pulls away, tugging back the covers as her eyes shift up. Swallowing hard he watches her hand–pumping and twisting up and down the length of his shaft–and he lets out a shaky breath as she licks her lips and looks down.

Leaning in, Regina takes him in her her mouth. Her grip on his shaft tightens as her warm, soft lips form around the tip of his cock. She sucks hard–and he finds it increasingly difficult to breath, his breath being shorter and more ragged with every stroke.

She continues pumping and sucking, and he reaches out, threading his fingers through her hair–he only wishes this could last longer than it will. No sooner than the thought crosses his mind, he feels his balls beginning to tighten. Sucking in a breath, he winces, pressing his eyes closed as her hand and lips continue to slip up and down his shaft.

His cock twitches a couple of times and he groans as he feels himself coming–and still, she continues to suck him, not lifting herself away until he feels himself softening as his body relaxes.

Regina kisses her way up his stomach and chest, pecking his chin and lips as she smiles.

"That was quite a wake-up," he tells her, his voice husky as he comes down from his high. "Such a fantastic start to the day."

She laughs a little and nod, and though it's dark, he can tell by the way she looks away that her cheeks are flushed. "Well, I wanted to make up for the other night…" He lip catches between her teeth as she looks back at him. "You know, when I… fell asleep on you."

"I'll admit, that actually had its perks, too." He clears his throat as a chuckles rises into his voice. "Well, it did after I… well, settled down."

For a while, they just lay there together. Her head rests on his chest and his fingers trace circles on her back–and he feels himself dozing, thinking that he couldn't imagine a more enjoyable way to spend the morning…

When his eyes flutter open, Regina's sitting at the edge of the bed. It's still dark and the fire is mostly just smoldering ash–and though he feels rested, he can't imagine he'd slept for very long.

A grin pulls on to his lips as he watches her–watching the way she rolls her shoulders and watching the way the muscles in her back move, watching the way she turns her head from side to side, and watching the way she stretches her arms out in front of her as she yawns.

She stands up and turns–and then stops, noticing him sitting up and looking in her direction. "Sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't…"

"I just wanted to go and take a quick shower. I'm…" He grins as her face scrunches. "Sticky."

He hesitates for a moment. "Would you like some company?"

"In the shower?" she asks, her brow arching as she looks at him.

"It could be fun."

"It could be counterproductive," she returns, a little grin twisting onto her lips as she shifts on her feet. "But…"

"It might be nice, too."

Laughing out, she shakes her head. "You're insatiable."

"Well, it's been awhile," he admits. "And even longer than I care to admit and even longer since… it was that enjoyable for me. But… well…." His voice trails off and he chuckles softly to himself. "But until last night the handjob that you fell asleep giving me was the most enjoyable thing I'd experienced in years."

Regina's eyes narrow. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Not a chance," he tells her, laughing as he shakes his head–and he can't help but notice the way she looks when he says it, something he can't quite make out registering in her eyes are her smile widens. "You don't have to say yes, you know…"

"To the shower?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm just trying to enjoy as much of this as I can before it ends, but if you don't want to–"

"I never said I didn't want you to join me," she interjects. "I just said it _might_ be counterproductive. That's _very different._ "

It doesn't take him long to scramble out of bed–and it's not long before Regina's back is pressed up against the cool tile of the shower wall and her legs are wrapped around his hips. It's lazier this time–his thrusts are slower and his lips settle on one spot in the crook of her neck. Her body is soft and warm, and the steam from the shower envelop them in a tiny little bubble that he never wants to leave.

At some point, it occurs to him that this is soon going to end–that as he'd stared out the window, he'd noticed the snow been had dwindled down to mere flurries. Soon the roads would be cleared and they'd be free to go. They hadn't talked about what would happen after–and he wondered if this was nothing more than a happy little affair they'd always look back on fondly, something that had gotten them through a difficult stretch of days and reminded them both that happiness was something that they could find, if they'd only slow down long enough to let it catch up with them. Of course, that wasn't at all what he wanted, but if life had taught him anything, it was that life rarely gives you what you want and it's up to you to make the best of what life bestows upon you.

After their shower, they bundle up in the complimentary white terry cloth robes that hang on the back fo the bathroom door. He can't help but smile at the way her hair almost instantly begins to curl or the way her eyes widen as she notices the red mark that begins to show itself on her neck–and he laughs as she swats at him. He catches her hand and pulls her to him, pecking her lips just before she makes a quip about having been mistaken about her motives for having packed so many turtleneck sweaters–and again, he finds his thoughts lingering on the idea that somehow all of this was supposed to happen, that _they_ were supposed to happen.

They settle back on the bed and she rolls onto her side, facing the window as she burrows back into him. He closes his eyes momentarily, as he presses a kiss into her wet hair–and then, when he opens his eyes, his heart sinks at the realization that the snow has stopped, and that means the end is near.

"Regina?"

When there's no response, he calls her name again, lifting his head to peer over her shoulder–and a soft smile edges onto his lips as he notices that she's asleep.

Pressing another kiss to her hair, he takes a breath–he doesn't want to wake her, and he supposes that what he has to say can wait. Even though it's stopped snowing, it'll take time to clear the roads–Granny admitted as much on their first night at the inn–and though their time is running out, it's not up just yet.

They still have time…

Regina's eyes flutter open and a smile draws onto her lips. Robin's arm is folded around her stomach and he's holding her against him. She can feel his warm breath on her neck, and he's snoring lightly–and a little laugh escapes her, remembering that first night, when she'd awkwardly offered to share her room with him and how he'd admitted he was a snorer. At the time, she hadn't cared–she to repay and she'd told him that wasn't much of a sleeper, anyway. It wasn't something she'd said to make him feel better–it was true, or at least, it usually was–but for whatever reason, it wasn't true here with him.

At first, she'd assumed it was some sort of combination of the quiet surroundings and down mattress and pillows, but the longer she stayed, the more she realizes it wasn't inn–it was him.

When she was with him, she found it easier to relax and easier to stop her thoughts from spinning around in her head, keeping her awake and distracted. She was more present with him, and more able to block away the rest of the world. It seems odd to her that they've only known each other for a handful of days–and all of the initial awkwardness of sharing such close quarters with a stranger had quickly melted away. It's hard to imagine being without him–and as she realizes that the snow has stopped, her stomach sinks, realizing that'll soon be her reality again.

They haven't really talked about what it is they're doing exactly, other than giving into their obvious attraction to each other. She hadn't told him how she felt about him–she hadn't really even sorted that out for herself–and she didn't want to scare him away by coming on too strongly. It was crazy to fall in love with someone after only knowing them for a few days, but she had–or at least she thought she had–and even though it was clear that he liked her, too, _liking_ someone wasn't at all the same as _loving_ someone.

There was so much they didn't know about each other's lives–and outside of this inn, she wasn't sure they'd be a good fit, regardless of how much chemistry they had or how things seemed or what she wanted. She takes a breath, slowly and tentatively reaching for her phone–if life had taught her anything it was that she wasn't guaranteed to get what she wanted, no matter how simple those things were…

Blinking a couple of times, she looks at her phone–scrolling through a series of texts from Henry and Graham, and her heart clenches when she swipes one open from Henry. Her eyes sink closed and she takes a long, deep breath before reading the string of texts from her son–all of which indicate that he had a terrible time at the Blanchards the night before. They'd served weird food that Cora expected him to eat as to not be rude, the adults–Leopold included, and she assumed Leopold most of all–were all indifferent to him, and his grandfather gave him a mahogany pen that looked like something he'd regifted once he realized that the grandson he barely acknowledged was coming to Christmas Eve dinner. He'd watched Mary Margaret open gift after gift and she'd treated him like a baby–likely like the baby he was the last time she'd seen him. The only saving grace of the evening was that the Blanchards had a fluffy white cat name Snow–and Snow had spent most of the night following him around, a likely result of the table scraps he'd fed her at dinner.

"Hey," Robin murmurs, sitting up and pressing a kiss to her jaw. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she breathes out, nodding as she turns the phone toward him. "Henry texted me a bunch of times last night." She sighs and pulls herself up. "Looks like Christmas Eve with the Blanchards was miserable."

"Just as you thought it'd be…"

"Yeah," she nods. "Part of me was hoping it'd be better than anticipated."

Robin sighs. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," she tells him, dropping the phone down onto the bed as she turns and slides her hands up over his cheeks, smiling as her fingers rub against his stubbly beard. "I'll call him in a little bit. He's probably still sleeping."

She watches as a grin edges onto his lips and he looks down at her lips before ducking in and kissing her. Her hands slide around his neck, and she kisses him back–and she whimpers a little when he pulls back, and that elicits another little grin from him.

"How did you sleep?" she asks, resting her forehead against his. "I was out like a light after that shower."

"You were," he tells her, rubbing his nose against hers as his grin brightens. "Are you hungry?" She nods and he pulls back slightly. "I think I heard Granny say something about gingerbread waffles and–"

"Oh, god. My mouth is watering just thinking about them."

"Should we get dressed or–"

His voice halts as a familiar knock rasps on the door, and her stomach drops–and then she hears Henry's voice, suggesting that maybe they have the wrong room.

"Oh, god…" she murmurs, looking to Robin with wide eyes. "That's either Henry with my mother or–"

"Regina?" Graham's voice calls. "Regina are you in there?"

"Oh, god. Robin…" His jaw tightens and his eyes sink closed with understanding. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't apologize," he tells her, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Let them in. I'll be in the bathroom."

She nods and watches him collect his things–quickly erasing any noticeable sign that she's sharing the room, and as she gets out of bed, she watches him disappear into the bathroom. He closes the door and flicks on the fan–and guilt stabs at her core. Then, taking a breath, she opens the door–and instantly smiles at the sight of her son.

Dropping down to her knees, Henry crashes into her with a hug–and she laughs as she holds him close to her. "I missed you _so much_ ," she tells him. "And I am _so happy_ to see you!"

"I missed you, too," he tells her, pulling back and grinning. "But this storm was so cool."

"It broke all kinds of records, I heard."

"What about me?" Graham asks, shifting forward. "Did you miss me, too?"

Taking a breath, she rises to her feet and pulls Henry back against her legs. "Hi, Graham."

Her whole body tenses as he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. "It was hard to tell, considering you never answered my texts or calls"

Her jaw clenches . "Oh…"

"No, it's okay. I get it," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "The signal out here is a little wonky and when you got a good connection, you wanted to use it to talk to Henry."

"This place doesn't even have WiFi."

"You must have been bored out of your mind."

"It wasn't so bad," she tells him, a little smile edging his onto her lips as she thinks of Robin. "I found ways to entertain myself."

"A nice little break from reality."

"Yeah," she breathes out nodding as her thoughts again shift to Robin. "Something like that."

Henry squirms away from her and she runs, watching as he runs to the window and climbs into the seat, looking down at the snow lot.

"Well, you're officially freed," Graham says.

"Yeah! We're here to save you."

"I just wish I'd known you were coming. I'd have…"

Graham chuckles softly. "Well I tried to call but…"

"Then I guess it's my fault I didn't know," she murmurs thinking about the string of unopened texts on her phone. "How did you get here so quickly?" She asks, folding her arms over her chest as she shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "We were told it'd probably take days to clear the roads."

Graham's brow furrows slightly. "We?"

"Oh," she murmurs as her eyes momentarily shift to the closed bathroom door. "I just mean…"

"It was awesome," Henry cuts in as he turns away from the the window. "Graham put the plough down on his truck and we drove _right through_ the snow."

Regina's eyes widen and she looks from Henry to Graham. "That sounds dangerous."

"We were going about twenty miles per hour the whole way here. It was safe, I assure you" He grins. "I knew better than to take any risks with your kid. If something happened to him on my watch, you'd likely reach into my chest, pull out my heart and crush it into dust… and I'd deserve it."

Henry giggles a little and her brow arches. "Are you saying I'm overprotective?"

"I think you're just the right amount of protective."

She blinks and her jaw tightens–and she bites back a sarcastic reply. This isn't the time to pick a fight with Graham because _she_ feels guilty. "Well, I wouldn't have been able to blame you if you'd sped away from my mother's the first chance you got–my kid in tow or not."

"Oh, it hasn't been that bad."

Her head tips. "You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not. Your mother has been very welcoming."

"She has?"

Graham nods. "She a little rough around the edges, but I think, deep down in there, she's got a good heart." Regina feels her shoulders tense as her eyes widen. "She's not that unlike you…" He chuckles softly and drops his voice. "She even helped me track down one of those little plaster ornaments that you and Henry make every year."

"What?"

He nods again–and her heart aches. "I know you guys always make one and the craft stores were all closed for the holidays. Her poor butler went out in the snow to get it a couple of nights ago, so your tradition can continue, uninterrupted."

"That's… very sweet."

Her cheeks are burning, but she doesn't say anything–he either horribly misread her mother or he doesn't know _her_ at all–and even though she couldn't be any more insulted by the comparison, it's nothing considering what she's done to him. Her eyes press closed, and she fights the instinct to lash out, reminding herself again that it isn't fair to pick a fight with him. None of this is Graham's fault–he wasn't the one who'd been lying for years about his feelings or the one who'd cheated, he was simply a good man trying to make the best of a shitty situation.

"Hey," she says, turning to Henry. "The woman who owns this place makes _incredible_ waffles and I think I may have heard something about _gingerbread waffle_ s for Christmas."

Henry's eyes widen. "Can we get some before we go back to Grandma's?"

Regina nods. "As long as you promise to try them with whipped cream," she tells him, laughing as the memory of Robin spraying whipped cream all over them–and she feels her cheeks warm.

"I thought you were going to say apples," Henry says, hopping down from the window seat.

"You had waffles with whipped cream," Graham asks skeptically. "Somehow I can't picture that."

She takes a breath. "I tried all sorts of things," she tells him, once again glancing toward the bathroom door. "Can you you take him down while I get dressed?"

Graham nods and she feels another pang of guilt as she watches him take Henry by the hand–and then, he turns back. "Oh, hey. Guess what happened?"

"What?" She asks, her voice shaky as she fold around her chest. "What happened?"

"I tracked down that FedEx box."

"Y-you did?"

He nods, clearly proud of his efforts. "Turns out when you show up at a local FedEx branch and tell them you're in the middle of an investigation and have an active badge number, it lights a fire under a few butts."

"I'd… imagine so," she says, her mouth suddenly dry.

"It's waiting for you at your mom's."

"That's… that's great," she manages to say, pulling on a smile as he turns back to Henry and drops his arm over her son's shoulders before pulling the door closed.

And then, she crumples.

"I am a terrible person," she says, looking up as the bathroom door opens. "I can't believe–"

"You're not a terrible person."

"Did you _hear_ that?" she asks, shaking her head. "I should have… been honest with him years ago."

"Sometimes… it takes awhile for us to realize what we _should_ have done," Robin says, tentatively reaching out and rubbing her arm. "That doesn't make you a terrible person." He grins a little as she looks up at him–and the softness of his eyes and smile is comforting. "The fact that you feel so badly about this is proof that you're not a terrible person."

"Well, that's debatable. It feels… pretty damn selfish right now."

Robin shrugs. "I've been where Graham is right now, and sure. It sucks, but…" He sighs. "I don't think Marian _intended_ to hurt me and I don't think you _intended_ to hurt him."

"Does intent really matter?"

"I think it does," he tells her, his voice sincere as his hand falls down her arm and curls around her wrist. "Sometimes… life just happens. Things get messy and… unfortunately, sometimes people get hurt."

She nods, not entirely sure she believes him, but comforted by the sentiment, nonetheless. Robin tugs gently on her hand and leads her over to the bed, and he takes a breath as they sit–and the distance he puts between them doesn't escape her notice.

"Do you… regret it?"

"Treating him like shit for all these years?"

"No," he says, shaking his head as he sighs. "I mean… do you regret what happened between us?"

It takes her a moment to reply–and she knows that she should regret it, but she doesn't. "No…"

"Okay," he breathes out. "Good, that's–" His voice halts and his eyes close momentarily, as if he's bracing himself for something–and she suddenly feels nervous. "Regina, I think I'm…" His eyes open and again, he draws in a breath. "I think I'm in love with you."

Her lips part and her eyes widen, and she can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest–and no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to find her voice.

"That might sound crazy," he says, chuckling softly as he shakes his head. "I mean, we've known each other for a matter of days, but–" He smiles and shrugs his shoulders–and in that moment, he looks so vulnerable and sweet, and it nearly breaks her heart. "But it's how I feel…"

"It's n-not…" She shakes her head and her cheeks flush, as she tries to breathe normally. "Robin, I…"

"You don't have to say it back or, reply even," he cuts in. "But I wanted you to know." Again, he takes a breath. "I'm not trying to guilt you or–"

"I don't feel like that's what you're doing."

"I just… these past few days have meant a lot of me and–"

"They've meant a lot of me, too," she admits. "More than you could ever even know."

A little smile tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "And I realize that it's entirely possible that you and I just got caught up in…. In whatever this is between us, that we were both looking for love and comfort and missing our kids at Christmas, and no matter what happens next, I'll always look back at these past few days as… one of my happiest memories."

Her stomach tightens. "This… sounds like a break up."

"It's not," he's quick to say. "Or, it could be… if that's what you want."

"I… I don't think it is." She sighs. "I just need to… handle things, you know. I need to tell Graham. I just… have to find a way to do that." Her eyes press closed. "I'd be a lot easier if he wasn't so…"

"I get it," Robin says as her voice trails off. "He's a good guy… but that doesn't mean you _have_ to be with him." He takes a breath. "And just because I'm a good guy, doesn't mean you _have_ to be with me either."

"Robin…"

"I just don't want you to feel trapped. I don't want you to leave here and… come to your senses and realize you've just make a mistake that you feel like you can't back out of." He sighs and shrugs. "There wouldn't be any hard feelings if you did…"

"So… what are you saying?" she asks, feeling tears welling in her eyes–it feels an awful lot like a break up, regardless of what he says, and she can't help but feel like she's somehow messed up whatever it is that's budding between them before it ever really began.

A grin tugs up onto his lips and he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "I'm suggesting that we… both go home. Or, to wherever we planned on spending Christmas. We spend some time with our families; we spend some time apart and… if on New Years Eve, we still want to be together, if we miss each other and think that whatever was starting to happen between us is something we want to pursue, then…" He grins again, and this time it shines through his eyes, and she can't help but smile in return. "Then, we'll meet here, at this inn, in this room, and… we'll figure it all out."

She nods. "That sounds like a movie plot."

Robin laughs and shrugs his shoulders. "You know I have a thing for those stupid rom-coms," he tells her–and she laughs, nodding as she remembers him knowing the plot of _Serendipity_ through and through. "So, what do you think?"

She takes a breath. "I… think that sounds like a wonderful plan."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding sincerely as she squeezes his hand. "It's brilliant."

Robin nods, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Well, then I guess this is goodbye."

"For now…"

He nods again and lets go of her hand, and she watches him rise to his feet–she's not sure he believes that they'll ever be together again, and if she's being completely honest, she's not sure it'll happen either, no matter how much she wants it to.

"I am going to go call Roland," Robin says, "And you need to get dressed."

"Right…"

"Uh, remember to put on a turtleneck," he tells her a bit awkwardly as his eyes fall to the mark on her neck. "I gave you a pretty angry looking hickey."

She laughs and nods–and her heart aches as he disappears back into the bathroom, and already, she misses him.

He's not entirely sure how he feels—but he knows that he misses her.

Regina is gone by the time he gets off the phone with Roland, and the room feels so empty without her. His throat tightens as he looks around—and on her side of the bed he spots the shopping bag from the toy store with a note taped to it. And with a sigh, he cross the room, smiling wistfully as he plucks the note from the bag.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he opens the note–apparently the lost package containing the red Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster had been recovered and was waiting for her at her mother's; and though it was something Henry was eagerly anticipating, there was no need for him to have two and she hoped that his son would enjoy the Nerf gun as much as she knew her son would.

Folding up the note, he sighs again, remembering how panicked she'd looked as she stood at the opposite end of the aisle watching him hold the Nerf gun in his hands–and though she meant it as a sweet gesture and he appreciates it, her not taking the toy with her, somehow made their parting seem so final.

He tries not to dwell on that feeling though, as he packs up his things–and everywhere he turns, he's reminded of her. He sees her sitting in the window seat and laying back against the pillows on her side of the bed; he sees her when he looks at his boots, remembering their walk in the snow and that first spark between them when she'd slipped on the ice and when he returns the remote control to the nightstand, he remembers watching Home Alone together and munching on popcorn. And it physically hurts–each memory reminding him of everything they almost had.

Tossing his duffle back over his arm, he grabs the shopping back and tucks the note into his pocket. He pulls the door closed and jogs down the stairs and when he reaches the front desk, Granny is sitting there looking at him with pitiful eyes and an apologetic smile.

"I saw her leave with another man," she says, sighing as she shakes her head. "He wasn't as good looking as you," she tells him. "He was too…manicured."

"So, he was clean."

"No, no, no. I just mean… you've got that ruggedly handsome thing going and it seems very natural."

Rolling his eyes, he nods, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. "I suppose I'll take whatever compliments I can get."

"All I'm saying," she says, starting over. "She didn't look right with him."

"And you think she looked right with me?"

"From the very beginning, you two just fit." A little grin pulls onto his lips–from the very beginning, it'd felt right, too. "I am sorry, Robin," Granny says shaking her head as he slides his credit card from the wallet. "I really thought there was something special between the two of you."

"There was," he tells her as a little grin edges onto his lips. "And, who knows, maybe there still is."

Grannys's head tips to the side and her eyes narrow. "What exactly happened this morning?"

He hesitates for a moment–he knows the way the story will make her look and sound, but what she thinks is likely much worse than the truth. "First of all, I knew about the boyfriend all along."

"So, he was her boyfriend." Granny sighs and and he nods. "If it's any consolation, she didn't look very happy with him. The whole time she was checking out, she was holding back tears."

"Well, things have been shaky between them for awhile now, and we felt a spark…and…."

A grin tugs onto Granny's lips. "I think _everyone_ here felt that spark between the two of you."

He laughs a little and nods. "It was stronger than anything I've ever felt for a woman." And then he sighs and his face falls, "But there's a little part of me that wonders if… it was something else. We've both been unhappy and were both missing our kids and–"

"I saw the way you two looked at each other," Granny cuts in. "It was more than that. Just because it happened quickly or because it happened at an inconvenient time doesn't mean it deserves to be diminished." A little grin tugs onto her lips. "Sometimes, the best things in life are the things that are unpredictable… the things that take you by surprise and flip your whole entire world upside down."

"You sound like me… about two hours ago."

"Do I?"

Robin nods. "Just before Regina left, I told her that…" He sighs and shakes his head. "I told her that we should go our separate ways. She should go to her mom's and spend the day with her son, and I'd go to my ex-wife's and see my boy–and then, once we were back to our normal lives and spent some time out of the little bubble we've been living in, we'd see if we still felt the same way we felt when we were here."

"Inside of your bubble…"

"Exactly."

"And suppose you do?"

A grin tugs onto his lips. "Then on New Years Eve, we'd meet back here and… figure out how to make it work."

"And suppose you don't?"

"Then we'd go our separate ways," he tells her, shrugging his shoulders as he sighs–trying and failing to act like the mere thought of that possibility doesn't kill him. "And we'd look fondly back on the days we spent together." At that, she scoffs, and his brow arches. "What? You don't approve of the plan?"

"I like the first part…"

"Not the second?"

"Well, the second is just asinine… look back fondly at your memories." Her eyes roll and then she arches a brow at him. "The two of you are right for each other and you'd be complete _fools_ not to pursue this."

Robin swallows. "I wanted her to have an out."

"Oh for Pete's sake! You want to date her, not _marry_ her… well… not right away, anyway…".

"Well, I…"

Granny sighs and plucks his credit card out from between his fingers. "I suppose you want me to book the room for New Years Eve, then?"

He nods. "And settle my half of what I owe for the past few days."

"Oh, that's taken care of…"

"What?"

"Regina covered the whole thing. She paid the bill in full."

He blinks. "But we said we'd split it."

A little grin edges onto Granny's lips as she turns to her computer and focuses on the screen. "She said she wanted to, that it could be her Christmas gift to you." She hands him back his card, then reaches into a drawer beneath the desk. "And she wanted me to give you this."

His eyes widen as he watches as Granny opens her palm to reveal the little plaster turtledove that Regina had painted–and he remembers how he'd suggested that they exchange ornaments, but they never actually did. Reaching around himself, he pulls open the front pocket of his duffle bag where he'd placed his ornament–and he laughs a little when he finds it empty.

He grimaces as he takes the ornament, remembers the way she'd teased him–and looking down at the painted turtledove, he takes it as a sign…

He holds onto that feeling as he drives to Marian's–a drive that would usually take about an hour, but on this occasion with the still-snowy roads, it takes nearly three.

It's mid-afternoon by the time he pulls into the driveway–and before he's even out of his truck, Marian's front door opens and Roland comes bounding toward him in a Spiderman sweatshirt and matching slippers. He opens the door and crouches down and scoops up his son, pulling him up against his chest. He holds him tightly as Roland chatters on about how much he missed him and how there's no way that Christmas would have been the same without him.

Robin laughs as he tries to set Roland down, but he doesn't let go and practically hangs from his neck. Reaching into the back of his truck, he reaches for his duffle bag.

"So, you know how Santa accidentally dropped some of your off at their houses?"

"Yep!"

"Well, you know what's funny?" he asks, looking to Roland as he grabs the shopping bags from the backseat–suddenly very glad he paid extra for gift-wrapping. "He dropped some off at my house, too!"

Roland's eyes widen and his smile erupts. "More presents!?"

"More presents," Robin laughs. "Now come on, let's go inside and warm up."

He sets Roland down and looks up to see Marian standing on the porch grinning. "I was afraid you weren't gonna make it," she calls as Roland runs past her into the house. "I thought it'd be another thing we'd add to the Reasons Our Son Will Need Therapy list."

Robin laughs as he steps up onto the porch, awkwardly leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I was afraid I wasn't going to make it either."

"Well, you're here now," she says, "Come on in." Taking a breath he follows her inside–and Mulan waves a bit awkwardly and he grins back, just as awkwardly. "Our parents are out exploring," Marian tells him. "They promised to be back in time for dinner, so until then…"

"We should open presents!" Roland cuts in, practically bouncing as he looks between the three of them.

"Roland, why don't we let your dad settle in and maybe we can finish lun–"

"I think presents sounds like a _fantastic_ idea," Robin cuts in, his voice rising over Mulan's. "And we've got _tons_ of them to open."

He starts with a few smaller items and works his way to the larger, more exciting ones. Roland takes his time with each, carefully pulling at the ribbon and slipping his fingers beneath the taped corners of the green and red shimmery paper before reacting to and examining each present–something all three parents find both equally endearing and infuriating.

Finally, Roland sits at the center of a pile of wrapping paper and they're done to the last two presents–the Spiderman costume and mask, and the red Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster.

Robin puts both packages behind his back and a grin curls onto his lips. "Pick–right or left."

Roland's face scrunches. "Umm… left!"

Robin takes a breath and hands him the last wrapped package–the Spiderman costume and mask. He holds his breath as Roland peels away the paper and a victorious little grin starts to edge its way onto lips as Roland's mouth falls open and his eyes widen.

"Ooh my goodness," he murmurs as he pulls out the costume. "It feels so _real_."

"It _is_ real," Robin laughs as he watches Roland's hand run slowly over the fabric of the costume. "I think there's a–"

"A mask!" Roland exclaims as he pulls the Spiderman mask out from the box. "This is _so_ cool!"

"You like it, huh?"

Roland nod and pulls on the mask. "I can _be_ Spiderman!"

"Well, _Spiderman_ ," Marian says as . "I think we need to clean up this mess and you need to go finish–"

,

"But there's more present," Robin cuts. "Finishing that sandwich can wait."

"Yeah," Roland nods. "Presents come first."

"Oh, well excuse me," Marian laughs. "How could I ever have suggested such a thing?"

"I don't know, mom," Roland sighs and shrugs. "Everyone makes mistakes."

Robin and Mulan both laugh as Marian's eyes widen. "Well, this gift is… kind of special," he says looking to Roland. "You ready for it?"

Roland nods. "How is it special?"

"Because, you see, a friend of mine picked it out, especially for you."

Roland eyes widen. "How did he do that?"

A grin tugs onto his lips. "Well, she just happens to know Santa."

"Really? That's the _coolest_!"

Robin nods. "Yeah, she is pretty cool… and she just so happened to convince Santa to bring you the most requested toy this year, even though it wasn't on your list." Roland is practically squirming in the pile of wrapping paper–and for a moment, Robin pretends like he can't find the gift, laughing softly as Roland grows impatient.

Finally, he hands over the bag from the toy store. Roland takes it and looks between them all, and then reaches into the bag, gasping a little as he pulls out the Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster in red. "Whoa," he breathes out as he looks up–and from the corner of Robin's eye, he sees Marian and Mulan exchange looks. "This is _awesome_!" Roland exclaims, looking to Robin. "Please tell you friend I said thank you!"

"I most definitely will," he replies, taking a short breath and ignoring the way his stomach twist as he wonders if he'll ever have the chance. "So, you've heard of that?"

Roland nods. "I wanted one, but mom said the elves ran out of supplies to make them." Robin's brow arches and he looks to Marian, noting the way Mulan shakes her head. "I must've gotten one of the last ones," Roland decides.

"Probably," Robin agrees.

"I bet they only had blue ones left. And those were definitely not as cool."

"Alright," Marian sighs. "Now will you _please_ go and eat something?"

"Can I wear my costume?"

Laughing softly, Marian nods. "Yes, but–the maske needs to stay off while you're eating."

A frown forms on Roland's lips and he sighs, clearly disappointed; but nonetheless, he scrambles to his feet and runs upstairs–taking the costume, mask and Nerf gun with him. They all wait until his door closes, and then Robin turns to Marian.

"Is there a reason the _elves_ ran out of _supplies_?"

Mulan's eyes roll. "Oh, wait for this one. This is good…"

Robin's eyes slide to Marian and she bristles. "I… didn't want him shooting himself or–"

"The balls are made of _foam_."

"I know, but… with the velocity those things can shoot out–"

"I told you it was lame," Mulan says, shaking her head. "I wanted to get one for him, but… someone over here thought it was too dangerous."

Marians brow furrows. "I don't like this. I don't like the two of you ganging up on me."

"We're not ganging up on–"

"Wait a second," Marian cuts in, her eyes widening as he looks back to Robin. "This friend wouldn't happen to be the woman you've been sharing a bed with, would it?"

Mulan blinks. "You have a girlfriend now?"

"Regina isn't my girlfriend and–"

"Okay," Mulan sighs. "The woman you're having sex with."

Robin's eyes widen a little and so do Marian's–when she says it like that it sounds so crass. "You two slept together… like _slept_ together?"

"I… didn't say that."

"But did you?" He hesitates for a moment, then nods. "And she got our son a Christmas gift, but she's not your girlfriend."

"It's… complicated," Robin sighs. "Really complicated."

"How so?" Mulan asks. "From what I've heard, you really like her…and judging by the fact that she got your kid an incredibly difficult to find gift, she likes you too."

"I just… I don't know that things would work out between us."

"Does anyone ever really know that?" Marian asks. "I mean…"

"Look at us?" He blinks as he looks to Marian. "I don't know that we're the best example here." Marian rolls her eyes and Mulan bristles a bit as he sighs. "She lives in Manhattan, and I'm upstate. She has a boyfriend and–"

Mulan's brow arches. "None of the things you've mentioned so far are permanent."

"I know that, but–"

"Robin, you light up when you talk about her," Marian says, cutting in as she reaches out and takes his hand. "I've known you since high school, and in all those years, the only person you've ever lit up for was Roland." She smiles and gives his hand a tight squeeze. "Even when we were on the phone, every time you said her name, there was something that would change in your voice–you were practically gushing."

"I don't gush…"

At that, Marian laughs out and a grin twists onto Mulan's lips. "You spent a solid twenty minutes telling me about painting ornaments with her–how funny she is and how adorable her relationship with her son is and how you felt such a connection to her and–"

"Alright, alright," Robin cuts in, his cheeks warming as he shakes his head. "I gushed… a little bit."

"So, what's the plan? How do you get things to be uncomplicated?"

He takes a breath. "We decided that if we still think we want to be together, we're going to meet at the little inn we stayed at during the storm and–"

"That's adorable."

"And you're definitely going to go, right?"

"I am," he nods. "I've got the room reserved and–"

"That's so exciting! Why aren't you excited?"

Robin shrugs and looks between them. "I don't know for sure that she'll show up."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"You said things weren't great between her and the boyfriend, right?"

"It's just…a feeling I have," he admits, finally acknowledging that Regina never gave him any real or substantial reason to doubt that she'd be at the inn on New Year's Eve. "I'm just afraid that we got caught up in–" Before he can finish his thought, Roland comes bounding down the stairs. He's wearing the Spiderman costume and the mask his sitting atop his messy curls, and in his hand is the Nerf gun. A smile pulls onto Robin's lips and he laughs a little as Roland hops down from the last two stairs. "Well, well. Don't you look like a proper superhero!"

"I feel like one!" Roland exclaims as he runs over to him. "But daddy, guess what's on TV tonight! Guess!"

Robin pretends to consider. He squints his eyes and stares off past Roland, and then, after a couple of beats, he looks back to his son. "I don't know. You're going to have to tell me."

"The Polar Express!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! We can watch it together this year, just like we did last year!"

Robin feels his chest tighten–and he remembers how only a couple of days ago, he'd worried about missing out on this new tradition. "Do you still have the book I gave you?" Roland nods. "That's good," Robin says, as a smile tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "How about we read it before we watch the movie."

"That'd be fun," Roland tells him, nodding. "I liked doing that last year."

"I did, too," Robin says. "I think it was my _favorite_ part of Christmas."

"Really? Even more than the presents?"

"Even more than the presents." Robin draws in a breath and glances toward Marian. "Now, you really need to go eat that sandwich… otherwise there won't be any popcorn with the movie."

Roland's eyes widen–and he can tell it's a serious threat. "Okay, but can you come with me?"

Robin looks down and watches as Roland holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers as he waits for his father to grab onto it–and he feels his chest tighten, glad that his son still wants him around and glad for any opportunity to make up for lost time.

Folding her arms over her chest, she looks out at the snow covered trees and sighs–she misses him.

Since arriving at her mother's she's barely had a moment alone with Graham. In part, it was her own doing–on the ride back Henry had been with them, and she'd spent the majority of the ride catching up with him, then when they arrived back at her mother's, there simply hadn't been time. She's been quiet through lunch and then stolen away to wrap the last of Henry's Christmas presents–and as she held the Nerf Rival Nemesis Blaster in her hands, she couldn't help but feel emotional–and she couldn't help but wonder if Roland liked the present.

She wished that she could call him–so that she could ask about Roland and tell him that she missed him, so that she could hear his voice–but that wasn't part of the deal. The deal was that they'd spend some time apart and see if they still wanted to be together, if absence really did make their hearts grow fonder…

After the present was wrapped, she tucked it down underneath the tree–and just as anticipated, when Henry opened up, he was over the moon with excitement. His whole face lit up a he tore away the paper and he marveled over the packing, tracing his fingers over the embossed lettering on the box. And when he gets up, he flings himself into her arms and thanks her–and it's only then that she realizes that he knows the truth about Santa. Her chest tightened a little as she hugs him back, holding him close as tears well in her eyes–and though she was glad that he got what he wanted and appreciated the gift, it was difficult knowing the magic of Christmas was gone for him and that next year he would be too grown up for letters to the North Pole and visits to Santa at Macy's…

"Hey, there you are," Graham murmurs. "Dinner's ready."

"Oh," she breathes out. "Thanks I'll be down in a minute." From the window, she watches as Graham moves forward and when he reaches out, sliding his hand over her hip, she flinches and pulls away. "I'm sorry," she says quickly as she turns to face him. "I just can't…"

He blinks. "Can't do what?"

"This," she sighs. "Us."

Her eyes fill with tears and her heart beats faster as his tips to the side. "What?"

"I'm sorry…"

Taking a breath, he sits down at the foot of the bed and stares at her, blankly as if he doesn't understand. "Are you… are you breaking up with me?"

"I'm sorry," she says again, knowing how hollow her apology must seem. "I am so sorry, Graham. I should have–"

"Is there someone else?" He asks, looking up at her with wide eyes and a tight jaw. "Is that why you're doing this?"

For a moment, she hesitates–it's so much more complicated than that. "That's not why–"

"So there is someone else," he says flatly.

Again, she hesitates, taking a tentative step forward. "Graham this has been over for a long–"

"Answer the question," he interjects, his voice rising over hers. "Is there someone else?"

Her eyes press closed and her tears are forced out from the corners–she doesn't want to make this about Robin, it just doesn't seem fair to push off the blame onto him.

"Graham, things have been–

"Answer the question." She opens her eyes and she nods slightly, watching as his jaw tightens. "How long has it been going on? A month? A year?"

"No, it… it hasn't been that long."

"So, you meet someone and just like that, we're done?" Graham asks, his eyes darkening as he looks to her. "You're willing to throw away five years that easily?"

"Graham, we've been over for awhile," she says. "This hasn't nothing to do with–"

"How long has it been going on?"

"Does it matter?" She sighs, letting her eyes meet his. "Does any of it matter?"

"Of course it does."

Again, she hesitates–but then she nods and goes to sit next to him at the foot of the bed. "I've only known him for a few days," she begins in a soft voice as she looks over at him. "I didn't think you could fall for someone that fast, but–"

"Fall for him?" Graham blinks. "You're… you're in love with him?"

She nods and a hint of a smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "I am."

Graham's eyes widen and guilt stabs at her core–she can't even imagine how difficult this is for him to hear. "It took you _years_ to tell me that you loved me–and even then you had to be drunk off your ass. And with this guy, it just takes a couple of _days_!?"

She nods–remembering that night, remembering she'd said it knowing that it was what he wanted to hear, knowing that it was how she _should_ feel, but fully aware that it wasn't. And she remembers thinking that the problem _had_ to be her and that eventually, she could learn to love him. "I didn't anticipate this, Graham."

"Is that suppose to make this easier?"

"No," she sighs. "I just… this has been a long time coming, though. It's not because–"

He blinks and his lips part, clearly taken aback. "You've been thinking about breaking up with me." She nods. "What stopped you?"

His voice is firm and distant, and she can see him struggling against the urge to cry–and she hates herself for doing this to him, for having let it drag on, for finally finding her nerve on Christmas Day, for not wasting so much of his life and all the opportunities he missed out on because of her.

"It just… never seemed like the right time."

"Why not?" He asks, his voice piquing with anger. "Why? Did you need someone to pick up Henry from soccer practice? Or someone to pick up prescriptions when you were sick–or–"

"That's not fair," she cuts in. "I _care_ about you. Don't make it seem like I don't."

"Just not enough…"

"I thought I could…" She sighs, realizing that whatever she _thought_ she could do would only sound cruel. S, , she stops and shakes her head, and resorts to another apology. "I'm sorry," she murmurs as she looks away. For a few minutes, Graham doesn't say anything, he just sits there, silently beside her. It's awkward and uncomfortable, but she can't bring herself to move. She doesn't want to fight, she just wants it to be over–and though it doesn't feel like it is, she knows she' giving him the less painful version of events . "I wanted to love you," she tells him after a few minutes pass. "Any woman in their right mind would have. You were wonderful to me and to Henry and–"

"But I wasn't good enough."

"I didn't say that."

"No?" He asks, looking over at her. "Funny, that's basically what I heard."

"Well, that's not what I said. We just… we're not right for each other. I realized it before you did and I should have been more honest. But–"

"And this other guy," he cuts in. "He's right for you?"

She hesitates, then nods. "I think so. I've… I've never felt that way about someone," she admits. "I didn't anticipate–"

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

He scoffs, shaking his head as he gets up from the bed and paces around the room. Her chest tightens as she watches him–obviously still reeling and struggling to process what all of this means–and then he pushes his hand into his hair and faces her. "I was going to propose to you tonight," he tells her flatly. "And now, we're breaking up."

"I'm sorry…" she tells him, not knowing what else to say and praying that he doesn't ask what she might have said had she not met Robin because as much as she thinks she wouldn't have married him, that she'd have found the courage to be honest with him about her feelings, she's not quite sure–and she knows how badly that would sting. "I really am sorry."

He nods. "I thought tonight was going to be one of the happiest nights of my life."

"I'm sorry," she says again.

And then he looks at her. "Are you?"

Her jaw tightens and she resists responding, and then finally, he looks away. She watches as he reaches for his suitcase and zips it up, muttering something underneath his breath as he pulls up the handle. "Say goodbye to Henry for me," he says, looking back at her just before disappearing down the hall.

She stays rooted in her spot–and she listens as the front door opens and closes, and she listens as the door of his truck slams and the engine rumbles. Pressing her eyes closed, she draws in a breath–and a wave of relief washes over her. Finally, it's done.

"Well, well," Cora sighs, the disappointment in evident in her voice. "You really know how to ruin a good thing."

"What?"

"You had him _wrapped_ around your little finger," Cora says. "He'd have done anything for you."

Regina blinks. "I don't love him. It wasn't fair to either of us to–"

"What the hell does love matter?" Cora asks, her eyes widening incredulously. "That's your problem, Regina. You expect too much. You're too selfish and foolish to understand what's important in this world."

Her brow arches. "Expecting to love the man that I–"

"And this other man," Cora cuts in. "You think you love him?"

Regina's eyes fall away and she nods. "I know that I do."

"And you've known him how long? A week? Less?"

"Does it matter?"

Cora sighs. "You're such a fool." Looking up, she watches as Cora's eyes harden. "You _think_ you love him," she scoffs. "How do you know he's not just after your inheritance."

"He's not… he doesn't even know about it."

"Sure," Cora nods. "Keep telling yourself that."

Regina's brow creases. "Is it so impossible to think that someone would love me… for me and not a bunch of money that's tied up in a trust?"

"Not impossible," Cora says. "But not likely."

Tears fill her eyes and she feels her jaw tighten–and as Cora turns away, she feels the doubt creeping in and she finds herself second guessing everything she knows she feels, and everything she knows _he_ feels. Her head dips forward and wet tears drop to her knees–and her mother's words swirl through her thoughts, tainting her memories…

"Mom?" She looks up to see Henry standing at the threshold. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she murmurs, brushing the back of her hands over her eyes. "I'm just–"

"I heard you and Graham talking…"

"Oh…"

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" She asks, smiling softly as she holds out a hand to her son. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"You're sad," he says as he takes her hand and sits down beside her. "I'm sorry that you're feeling sad."

"I'll be okay…"

Henry nods. "So, we're done with Graham, huh?"

Her lip catches between her teeth and her eyes narrow. "How do you feel about that? I know you like him."

A soft grin tugs onto her lips as Henry shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. He was kind of boring. I mean, he likes to watch _golf_ on the weekends." His brow furrows. "Other than grandpas, who watches golf?"

At that, she can't help but laugh and she drapes her arm around Henry's shoulders. "I really love you, you know that, right?"

Henry nods. "Of course I do. If you didn't love me you wouldn't have gotten me such awesome gifts this year." He grins. "Graham told me on the way here that you got stuck in the storm because you were looking for the Nerf gun after the one you ordered got lost."

"Oh," she murmurs, her jaw tightening as she wonders if that's how Henry figured out that she was his Santa Claus and the rest was all happy myth–but she doesn't ask. "You know what? I think I have an idea…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you _really_ want to go have dinner in the dining room with grandma?"

Henry's face scrunches. "Not really. She's… kinda mean."

"I know," Regina sighs, Cora's words still stinging. "So, how about this? How about I order a pizza and we'll paint ornaments and watch a movie in here?"

Henry's face brightens. "The Polar Express is on tonight!"

"Well, that just sounds perfect," Regina says, remembering Robin's tradition with Roland, as a smile pulls onto her lips. "So, go put on your pajamas and get your craft stuff and I'll order… and let grandma know we won't be down for dinner."

Henry giggles and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "Good luck with that."

Taking a breath, she nods and watches him go–and her chest aches with worry as Cora's words play again and again, and she wonders if there's any truth to them.

Robin stares up at the ceiling and sighs, watching the way the sun pours in through the cracks of the closed blinds, striping the floor and illuminating across the bed. He's been awake for over an hour and already, he's feeling anxious–after all, it's New Year's Eve and all he wants is for the day to start, if only so that it can end.

A grin draws onto his lips as he looks down at Roland, practically sleeping on top of him in a brand new pair of Spiderman pajamas that Marian's parents got him for Christmas. For the handful of days he's been at Marian's, Roland has been practically glued to his side–and it's been the best of distractions. But then there were the quiet moments–moments when Roland wasn't laughing or telling him a story or trying to show him his art projects and school work–and that's when his mind would start to reel.

"Knock, knock," Marian calls quietly from the doorway. He turns his head and she smiles, watching as Mulan steps up beside Marian. "I think it's time for Spiderman to go back to his own bed."

"He's fine," Robin murmurs, absently stroking Roland's hair. "He'll be up… soon-ish."

"Soon-ish is a hopeful estimate," Marian laughs. "Besides, you and I need to talk."

Robin's brow arches, watching as Marian and Mulan come into the guest room and Mulan reaches for Roland. The boy grunts as she lifts him, but stays asleep and Robin smiles a little as he watches Roland's head fall to Mulan's shoulder as she rubs his back, disappearing down the hall with him. Over the course of the past two years, he's felt a myriad of things about her–mostly unkind things–but one thing has always been obvious to him and that was her love for Marian and Roland.

"I feel like I'm about to be chastised," Robin says, pulling himself up and sitting back against the pillows. "But I can't think of anything I've done wrong… yet."

Marian grins and sits down at the edge of the bed. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Usually when you want to have these little heart-to-hearts, I've done something… or at least that's what it meant when we were married."

"Well, it's not what it means this time," she tells him, sighing as she shakes her head. "I want to talk to you about tonight…"

"Tonight…"

"Yes, about you and Regina." She grins as she reaches out and squeezes his knee. "I want to make sure you're not going to do something stupid… like not go."

"I want to go…" Robin bristles. "But, I just…"

"Any why wouldn't you?"

"I don't think I'd be able to sit there… slowly realizing that she wasn't going to come." He shakes his head. "I couldn't stand it."

He watches as Marian's eyes widen. "Why are you so convinced that she's not going to show up."

"It's just… just a feeling I have, I–"

"Well, it's a stupid feeling." His brows arch as Marian's eyes roll. "Did Regina give you _any_ indication that she _wouldn't_ be there?" She sighs. "You're asking to _date_ her, not _marry_ her."

"You're not the first person to point that out."

"Maybe that should tell you something…"

Taking a breath, he stares at her for a moment. It's strange to be sitting here with Marian, talking about Regina, but it's also a comfort because no one knows him the way Marian knows him. "I… I told her that I'm in love with her." He sighs and his eyes press closed as he leans his head back into the pillow. "We were saying goodbye and… I told her I'm in love with her."

Marian's brow arches. "After three days…"

"Technically four…"

"Oh that's _tons_ better," Marian sighs. "Why would you tell her that?"

He shrugs and looks back to her, "Because it's true."

"Oh," she breathes out at a smile edges onto her lips. "That's… different, I guess. I thought you just… said it."

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

"Of course not…"

"But she doesn't know that and… what if it was too much too soon? What if I scared her? What if–"

Marian's eyes narrow. "What did she say when you said it?"

"Nothing, really. She was… overwhelmed as it was and the guilt was eating her alive and–"

"Well, I've been there…" Robin's shoulders stiffen, but he sucks back his pride. "Its terrible."

"She said it felt like we were breaking up…" He sighs. "I told her that that's not what was happening, and then I suggested we meet back at the inn on New Years Eve."

"Okay," Marian murmurs as she crosses her arms over her chest. "So, she didn't run away screaming when you told her you love her, she didn't seem to want whatever was happening between the two of you to end and she agreed to meet you on New Years Eve…"

"She said she'd think about meeting me…"

"But she's given you every indication that she _will_ be there tonight, yet you've been sulking around for the past few days, pining for her and worrying yourself sick about her standing you up."

For a moment, he hesitates–he's not sure how to explain why he feels the way he does. "I just… I'm worried she's going to realize how crazy this is and that she just got caught up in–"

"Hey," Marian cuts in. "Sometimes we need a little crazy in our lives." She grins and squeezes his knee. "Now, go take a shower while I make breakfast. You can eat with Roland, then you and I are going shopping."

His brow arches. "Why do I need to go shopping."

"Because you are not meeting Regina wearing jeans and a thermal and those clunky old boots." She smiles and shrugs her eyebrows at him, and he can't help but laugh as he realizes, that he and Marian haven't been this friendly with one another in more than a year and he finds himself feeling very to have his friend back. "You want to impress her, don't you?"

"I can't impress her wearing jeans and a thermal… and incredibly practical footwear, given the time of year?"

Marian blinks. "Men know nothing…"

"I just don't–"

Marian's eyes roll as she stands up and reaches for his hand, tugging him up and out of bed. "Just go shower…"

After breakfast, he and Marian spend the day at the mall–and for the first time since their divorce, things feel normal between them. She helps him pick out a suit–insisting that any adult man should own at least one–and he holds out, refusing to wear a tie, which ears an eye roll from her. By lunchtime, his outfit is picked out–and he has to admit, he looks smart in it and it boosts his confidence and makes him look like the sort of person Regina would normally be with.

They stop for lunch at the food court, and over egg rolls and rice, they talk about Roland's progress in school and Mulan's new job–and a grin twists onto Marian's lips when she asks if she can expect him and Regina at Easter that coming April.

Robin rolls his eyes, reminding her to take things one step at a time and she laughs, admitting that she has a good feeling about everything–and though he won't actually voice it, he can't help but feel his confidence returning and his excitement beginning to bubble.

Saying goodbye to Roland is the hardest part–but by mid-afternoon, he's back in his truck and headed back to the inn, his stomach fluttering with nervous anticipation at the prospect of seeing Regina again.

Granny smiles as he strolls up to the desk, and checks into 'their' room–and she chuckles softly as she tells him that she's reserved the whole inn for them. She goes over the planned menu with him before he heads upstairs to show and get dressed–and as soon as he enters the room, Regina is everywhere he looks. But instead of missing her nad feeling sad, he feels a surge of contentment, remembering how it all began and thinking of everything that's yet to come.

Henry's brow arches as he watches her pace around in front of her closet–and it takes her a moment to realize that she's not alone.

Her bed is a mess of clothes–both from unpacking her suitcase and sorting laundry and trying on clothes, trying to pick something to wear. But despite the mess, Henry flops down onto her bed and rolls onto his stomach.

"I like that one," he tells her. "You look pretty."

Regina blinks as she turns to him. "Maybe I shouldn't go. I mean, you'll have to go to Emma's for the–"

"Mom!" Henry cuts in. "You _have_ to go. I'll be fine at Emma's." He grins. "She makes good nachos and has a new XBox _and_ she has a bunch of games I don't have."

"Great, they're full of sodium," Regina sighs. "And I don't _have_ to go."

"Yes, you do."

She bristles and turns back to the mirror, watching as Henry rolls his eyes. "And why do I _have_ to go?"

"Because he makes you happy," Henry says simply. "And there aren't many people who make you happy."

Regina's eyes narrow and she looks at him through the mirror, watching as his feet kick back and forth through her clothes. "And how do you know that?"

"Because I'm really good at eavesdropping and when Emma picked us up at the airport the other day, you were telling her about him and your eyes were smiling."

Her brow arches, "My eyes were smiling?"

Henry nods. "And your face was all lit up, too." He giggles and her brow juts up higher. "You only ever look that when you're talking about me and that apple cinnamon cheesecake Emma brought over for your birthday last year."

Her shoulders square. "Oh…"

"I like that, though," he tells her, his voice suddenly very seriously. "That this guy make you happy." Again she looks at him through the mirror. "You never seemed happy with Graham."

She nods and turns back to him. "You make me happy. I don't need–"

"Mom!" Henry cuts in, his eyes widening. "Emma was right. You _are_ trying to be a martyr."

Regina's eyes narrow. "I shouldn't let you hang out with her anymore. Her sassiness is rubbing off."

A grin pulls onto Henry's lips. "I don't get my sassiness from Emma. I get it from you."

Her eyes roll, and she can't deny it–but still, she bristles. "You don't… think this is a little crazy?"

Henry blinks. "It's totally crazy," he laughs. "But you never do anything that's crazy." Her brow furrows and she can practically hear Emma coming out of her son's mouth. "Crazy isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes, it's a good thing… a fun thing."

"Your grandmother would disagree."

"Grandma thinks recess is unnecessary and that it's selfish when places close on holidays," Henry tells her plainly. "She's probably not the best person to get advice from."

A little grin edges onto her lips. "I'm nervous…"

"I can tell."

"You can?" She asks. "How?"

Henry giggles and points to her feet. "You're wearing two totally different shoes."

Regina's eyes widen and she looks down–and Henry giggles, watching her notice that she's wearing one nude patent leather pump and another burgundy suede one, none of which match the cobalt blue dress she's wearing. "Oh…"

"Good thing you noticed…"

"Good think _you_ noticed," she laughs. "Had I walked in like this, Robin might have take one look at me and headed in the other direction."

"I doubt that," Henry tells her. "But he might have laughed." And then, a grin pulls onto Henry's lips. "Does this mean you're _definitely_ going to go?"

Taking a breath, she smoothes her hand over her skirt and turns back to the mirror. "I… I think so."

"Mom, c'mon," Henry sighs. "Don't be scared. He likes you and you like him."

Her eyes narrow. "Your conclusion after more eavesdropping?" Henry giggles again and nods, and Regina's eyes roll. "And what if he doesn't show up? What then?"

"Then he's not good enough for you."

Her eyes meet his through the mirror and she nods–and her stomach flutters. "So, help me pick out some shoes that actually match, then?"

Henry nods and rolls off the bed–and an hours later, she's on her way to Connecticut, her stomach twisting and turning with every passing mile. As she drives, she finds herself practically begs any higher power that will listen to her to make sure that he arrives safely and on time because she's not sure she could handle being stood up–she's far too invested.

What she doesn't anticipate though is that _she_ could possibly be the one to stand _him_ up…

Robin paces back and forth–she should be here by now, he tells himself.

They didn't set an exact time, but with every passing minute, he feels his doubt seeping back in.

Looking around the room, he takes a breath, reminding himself that it's too early to worry. The room is all set up–candles sit atop the dresser, nightstands and mantle just waiting to be lit, there's a bottle of wine he chilling and bought her roses. He'd prepared a fire at the hearth and it was crackling and popping as it warmed the room, and downstairs, he knew that Granny had draped a new, white table cloth over 'their' table by the fireplace and was keeping lasagna warm in the oven.

All day, he'd been caught up in a fantasy of how this evening would go–what it would be like to hold her in his arms again, and this time not have to worry about what would happen once they parted ways. He couldn't wait to hear about Henry's Christmas and he couldn't wait to tell her how much Roland had loved the Spiderman costume and the Nerf gun–and he needed to let her know that the first time she met Roland, she'd need to be ready to explain how it was that she personally knew Santa Claus.

He imagined they'd have dinner together, and probably drink too much wine as they filled each other in on their lives for the past two days–and then, they'd retire up to their room and let the night take them where it would.

As he'd gotten ready, he couldn't help picturing them returning to the inn for anniversaries and by the time he'd gotten dressed, he'd tentatively planned out the next twenty years–and though he knew that he was getting ahead of himself, he couldn't help himself.

And now, he felt like it was all slipping away.

He takes a breath and grabs his room key, and heads downstairs–and when reaches the bottom, Ruby whistles at him.

"Wow," she calls out. "You clean up _nice_."

He laughs a little and shrugs. "This was my ex-wife's doing."

Her eyes narrow. "When Regina gets here, maybe leave that detail out."

"If she gets here," he breathes out, shifting nervously as he makes his way toward them at the desk. "I know there's not a bar here, but–"

"I'll bust open a bottle of wine," Ruby tells him, hopping down from her stool. "Red or white?"

"Surprise me."

"It'll take the edge off," Granny tells him, waving him over to the adjoining dining room. "Come on, let's sit," she tells him. "Otherwise, I'm afraid all that pacing you've been doing will wear out my carpet, and unless we get another record-breaking snow storm that keeps people trapped here, I'll never be able to afford replacing it."

Robin blinks. "You… could hear me pacing upstairs?"

Granny nods and chuckles softly to herself. "Walls here are paper thin."

His eyes widen and he blinks a couple of times, but says no more and neither does she–and together, they sit at one of the tables. Ruby joins them a couple of minutes later, balancing three wine glasses in one hand and carrying the bottle and corkscrew in the other.

For awhile, Ruby and Granny succeed in distracting him–but every time the clock strikes indicating a new hour is about to begin, his stomach sinks and Ruby tops off his wine. They finish off the bottle and open another–and it occurs to him that they've been sitting and drinking for more than two hours.

His eyes shift to the clock–and he's not sure that he can stand to hear it strike again.

He says his goodbyes for the evening and pretends not to notice the looks Ruby and Granny exchange as he pushes away from the table–and his stomach sinks as he takes one final look a the front entrance.

Stepping up onto the first stair, a shiver runs down to his spine as a little gust of cold air sweeps into lobby–and he hesitates to turn, not wanting it to _not_ be her.

Taking a breath, he steps off the stairs and closes his eyes–and then, he turns, and when his eyes open, Regina is standing a couple of feet away from him. He blinks as a grin pulls at the corner of her mouth and she waves. He feels his breath catch in his throat and there are tears in her eyes–and for a moment, he finds himself rooted in place.

"Sorry, I'm late," she murmurs as she takes a tentative step toward him. "I… I had one hell of a time getting here."

"I thought you might not come."

She nods. "Honestly, I wasn't sure I would…" A grin pulls onto her lips and she take another step toward him. "And if Gilmore the Goose had any say in it, I wouldn't have been here at all."

"What?" He blinks. "What goose."

"I stopped for gas and…" Her voice trails off she shakes her head. It's a long story" she laughs. "A story I'd love to tell you… tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning," he repeats, his stomach flipping as a smile draws onto his lips. "I would _love_ to heard about it tomorrow morning," he tells her, closing the gap between them as he reaches for her.

His arm loops around her waist as he draws her in, pulling her up against him. She lets out a shaky breath and her tears are threatening to fall, but she's smiling–smiling so brightly–and it warms his heat, making all of the heartache and worry feel completely worthwhile, if not a little silly.

He grins as his lips brush over hers–and she grins too, laughing a little as their noses bump. Her arms link around his shoulders and she pecks his lips, murmuring something that he can't quite hear over his heart pounding in his chest. And as their lips meet, he feels that same electric jolt he felt before. His hand slides into her hair and he breathes her in as her hand finds his hip–and he can't wait to see where this leads because wherever ends up going, he knows it'll be an incredibly journey that they'll enjoy together.


	2. The Litmus Test

**This takes place roughly a month and a half after the original story ends.**

* * *

Henry rolls his eyes as Regina eases her car into a tight parking space in front of a mound of snow. This wasn't usually the sort of day she'd choose to travel and since they left home late that morning, traveling slowly into a snow storm. Her stomach had been fluttering with nerves and over and over again, she debated whether or not she should cancel–but then, by the time she'd made up her mind to do it, the snow had lightened up significantly and the plows and salt trucks were out, clearing the roads and invalidating her flimsy excuse.

And it was only after she couldn't cancel that she realized she hadn't really wanted to.

Finally, she and Robin were bringing Henry and Roland on a date–and this would be the true litmus test of their relationship.

Up until this point, they'd kept things just between the two of them–and though their relationship started as a whirlwind love affair, real life had slowed it down. For the most part, she thinks she's glad for the slow down. It gave her time to process it, and even though she was mostly certain that Robin Locksley was the man she was meant to grow old with, she needed to be sure that the flame that was so quick to spark between them didn't fizzle out when the excitement wore off.

So, for the past two months, they'd dated–sort of.

There was still the better part of a state between them, and for the foreseeable future, that wasn't going to change. They saw each other on weekends and once on a random Wednesday when he'd surprised her for lunch on his way to pick up Roland from Marian's. They talked constantly though, through texts and skype. He always texted her _Good Morning_ before her alarm had the chance to go off and sent her funny pictures when she was in meetings that she struggled not to laugh at; and she'd set him up on her office desktop as she had lunch and he'd tell her about his day, stopping every now and then to assist a customer who'd wandered into his store. When she got home he was with her–be it on Skype of an actual phone call– through her dinner routine and once Henry had been fed and was working on homework or a playing a video game, their conversation would usually pick up again–and usually would turn a bit naughtier as nighttime neared–until it was finally time to say goodnight. And then, the next morning, it started all over again.

It'd been her idea to bring the boys together, and they'd decided to meet halfway.

Robin picked a park that had a skating rink and a hot cocoa stand, and she'd found a little diner nearby it where they could eat–and then, if things went well, there was a movie theatre and an arcade not far away.

"Okay," Regina breathes out as she pushes the shifter into park. "You remember–"

"Mom!" Henry cuts in. "We've been over this _a hundred_ times."

"Not a hundred."

Henry's brow arches as he looks over at her. "Fine. Ninety-nine."

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable or–"

"I suffered through _years_ of Graham trying to be my friend."

"He liked you," she says, her voice piquing in weak defense. "He really tried–"

"He was boring."

"And what if Robin's boring?"

"He's not."

"You seem awfully sure of that," she says, undoing her seatbelt and turning herself to look at Henry. "How would you know that? You've never met him."

Henry blinks as his eyebrows arch. "You skype with him _all_ the time."

"But you're not–"

"He's funny," Henry cuts in. "And his voice is cool."

"I do like his voice," she admits, grinning. "You know his son is a bit younger than you."

"I know," Henry says, nodding. "As long as he's not _a baby._.."

"He's not," she tells him, chuckling softly to herself, glad that she's more nervous than her son is. "I think he plays hockey. Robin's been teaching him, but his mom–"

"Can _I_ play hockey? Like, on a team."

"Oh, I didn't mean–" Regina feels her grin fade and she regrets sharing that detail–a detail that's been a sore spot between her and Henry since October. "No."

"Mom–"

"You'll break something."

"You let me play–"

"At the park and only in your sneakers… and that's bad enough."

"Emma lets me play on roller blades."

Her eyes widen. "She's not allowed to babysit you anymore."

Henry's eyes roll. "Maybe you'll get married and _he'll_ let me." At that, her heart beats a little faster, and she watches as Henry gets out of the car, rounding to the back of it and tapping against the trunk. "Come on, mom," he calls. "They're probably waiting."

Releasing a breath, she nods and grabs her gloves before roughly pushing the door open. She pops the trunk and Henry grabs his skates, drops them down over his shoulder as he reaches for his bag, grumbling about wishing she'd said something earlier about Roland liking hockey because he'd have brought his stick. Rolling her eyes, she drapes her arm over her son's shoulder and turns him toward the park.

As they round a bend toward the rink, she spots Robin, crouched down in front of Roland, lacing up a pair of skates–and when he spots her, he stands and waves.

Her heart flutters as she smiles and waves back, hugging Henry a bit closer into her side.

"He looks nice."

"You've seen him before."

"But not _in person_ ," Henry tells her. "Just on your computer screen."

Robin lifts up Roland, holding him on his hip as they near, and when she reaches their bench, Robin leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek as Roland giggles a bit–and by the time Robin pulls away, Henry has already wiggled free from her.

"Henry," Robin begins, watching as Henry sits down on the edge of the bench and drops his skates down beside himself. "It's nice to finally meet you." He extends his hand and her heart flutters again as Henry takes it, shaking his hand and telling him that he's glad to finally meet him, too–and her cheeks flush as Henry adds that she talks about him _all of the time_. Robin grins as he looks up at her, winking before turning his attention back to Henry. "And this, is my son, Roland."

"Hi," the little boy says, almost shyly as he grins.

"Hi," Henry returns, grinning.

"And this," Robin says as he turns Roland back to Regina. "This is Regina. She's daddy's…"

"Girlfriend," Roland supplies.

"Oh–" Robin's eyes widen as he looks between her and Roland. "You know that?"

Roland giggles as Robin looks between her and his son. "That's what mommy and Mulan said she was when they said I was gonna meet her and needed to mind my manners."

"Mulan?" Henry asks, looking up from his skates. "You know someone named _Mulan_?"

Roland nods. "My mommy's girlfriend."

"She's named after _the warrior_."

"That's cool."

Roland nods, proudly–and a little giggle escapes her as he starts to wiggle in Robin's arms, ready to be set down and clearly far more interested in talking to Henry than her. "Do you like superheros?"

"Yeah," Henry says, as he works off his boot. "I like the Avengers, mostly. And Spider–"

"YOU LIKE SPIDERMAN?"

Regina laughs. "I think Roland is in love."

"Oh, I know it," Robin chuckles as Roland points out the Spiderman laces on his skates. "He's been so excited about meeting Henry–and Henry just delivered _big time_." Regina grins as Robin's arm slips around her waist–and though the four of them had only spent a few minutes together, just like it'd been with just the two of them, she couldn't help but feel that this was exactly where she was meant to be and they were exactly the people she was meant to be with.


	3. Birthday Cake

Robin's shoulders slump forward and he presses two fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes and drawing in a long, deep breath. He grips his cell phone and tries to tamp down… whatever it is that he's feeling, and wishing more than anything, he'd just ignored Marian's calls for the evening. **  
**

But of course, when he saw her number flash across his screen, ignoring her call hadn't even occurred to him. Marian didn't call often, and when she did, it wasn't from her cell phone, but from the house phone–and when she did, it wasn't Marian who was on the other end of the line, but Roland.

He looked forward to those calls, barely ever letting it ring more than twice. He loved hearing about his son's adventures in first grade and about all of his friends, he enjoyed listening to him talk about his favorite TV shows and what books he was reading, and even the random stories of the trouble he'd gotten himself into, like when it'd been cold and snowy out so he'd took his hockey stick and a puck down into the basement and ended up shattering a lamp that was one of Marian's favorite antique store finds.

So, when he saw his ex-wife's cell phone number flash across the screen, his stomach sank a little and his heart beat a little faster and by the time he said her name, a hundred worst-case scenarios had already filled his head.

Nothing terrible had happened, though, and in fact, Marian was calling with what she thought was good news–and until he hung up the phone, he'd thought it to be the very best news.

The plans for Roland's birthday party had to be switched–something about a bounce house being double booked–so, she and Mulan moved the party up a week, and that meant he'd get Roland on his actual birthday. He'd readily agreed to come and pick him up from school as as soon as they hung up, he'd sent a quick text to John to let him know he'd have to manage things on his own at the store that day.

Then he realized what that meant.

He'd be in competition with Marian and Mulan–and when put up against the two of them, and whatever they had planned, he'd surely lose and end up disappointing his son.

Disappointing Roland was bad enough, but to do it on his birthday seemed an extra harsh blow–and while that was only his fault, admitting that was difficult, so instead, he placed the blame on Marian's shoulders.

"Well, Henry's completely wiped out," Regina says, rounding the corner into the dining room where he's sitting–and as he looks up, watches as her eyes shift to the game of Clue still scattered around the table.

"Uh, sorry," he murmurs, setting his phone down and shifting a bit awkwardly. "I, um… got a bit distracted."

"It's fine," she assures him. "I'm… more concerned about the look on your face."

"Hm?"

"You look like you could strangle someone."

His eyes roll. "Just… my ex-wife." She nods and offers him an understanding little smile, her eyes shifting down to his phone and before she can say anything, he sighs. "That's not fair," he tells her, looking up. "I'm mad at myself. Not her. She didn't do anything wrong. She's… actually just trying to do me a favor."

"But it's easier to be mad at her."

"Yeah," he murmurs, sighing a little as he reaches for a the little notepads and pencils tossed to the center of the game. "I just–"

"I get it."

"Do you?" he asks, chuckling softly. "Care to explain it to me? Because I don't get it."

Nodding, Regina takes a few steps in and smiling gently as she reaches for the game box's top. "Being a single parent is hard enough," she tells him, her shoulders rising and falling with a shrug. "But you get to be a single parent with two other people–two other people who, good intentions or not, get to be with your son all of the time–and I think that's harder than doing it alone."

Robin nods. "I get him on his birthday–for that whole weekend, actually."

At that, Regina's eyes narrow and her head tips to the side. "Okay," she murmurs slowly. "Now I'm confused."

Chuckling softly, he nods. "The weekend before, Marian and Mulan are throwing this huge party. All of his friends from school are going to be there and all the kids from his hockey team, too, and–" He stops, drawing in and releasing a short breath. "She called from the store. Roland was with her and I could _hear_ him. He's _so_ excited for this party. They're picking out stuff to go in gift bags and she hired _an actual fucking Spiderman_ to come and sit in a photo booth and take pictures with the kids."

"Wow. Sounds like she can really throw a party."

"There's going to be a bounce house and this ridiculous cake that looks like it should be on the damn _Food Network_." His eyes widen as he feels his heart beat a bit faster. "Regina, she sent me a picture of that damn thing and–"

"Robin…"

"What?"

"It's _just_ a party."

"It's a party with a real, live Spiderman," he deadpans. "How are me and my store-bought sheet cake supposed to compete with that?"

Smiling softly, Regina reaches out, her hand falls to his arm. "You're not going to _compete_ ," she tells him gently. "And you're _not_ going to give that child a _sheet cake_ from whatever grocery store is nearest to your house."

"I'm not?" he asks, genuinely curious of what he's supposed to do instead or how anything he picks will compare. "I can't bake or–"

"I can."

"You can bake?"

She nods, rubbing her hand over his arm. "I have this recipe that Henry _loves_. I'll teach you."

"But–"

"And Roland is going to be _thrilled_ because he gets a _bonus birthday_." She grins again as he draw in a breath he listens. "And he gets to spend a whole weekend with you, doing things he doesn't get to do all of the time."

Considering it, he nods. "We could go hiking. He loves doing that."

"There you go."

"I could teach him to go ice fishing."

Regina nods, a little grin tugging up at the corner of her mouth. "And while I think that sounds like a terrible way to spend a cold day in February, I'm sure Roland will _love_ it."

"We've never gone before."

"See?"

He feels himself calming down. "You know, your house is on the way and–"

"You want to stop?"

He nods, feeling a smile pull onto his lips. "Giving Roland _any_ time with Henry is only going to win me points, and I think it'd be the nice for the four of us to get some dinner, maybe catch a movie or… something…" His voice falters as her expression changes. "What?"

"The four of us," she repeats. "I just…I like how that sounds."

"Me, too."

Leaning in, she presses a soft kiss to his lips, then as she pulls back, she reaches for his hand, giving it a soft tug. She tosses down the box top and leads him to the kitchen, and he watches as she pulls the necessary ingredients from her cabinets–and he can't help but laugh as she opens up the pantry door, tugging a black apron from a hook and tossing it at him before selecting a cookbook.

It's not something that was published; instead, it's made of construction paper, looks like she bound it herself at an office supply store–and when she sets it down on the counter, she traces her fingers over the title– _Henry's Favorites_ –written in blue glitter. He can't stop himself from smiling when she looks back to him, explaining the book was a mother's day gift the previous year and one of her most treasured possessions.

Regina opens up to the page with a recipe for "Best-Ever Birthday Cake" and he chuckles softly at a picture of Henry, wearing a green and yellow party hat, smiling widely with his tongue poking through a space in his mouth where a tooth had once been.

Together, they mix the ingredients and he holds his breath as they pour them into a glass baking dish. He puts the cake into the oven and Regina sets a timer before sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder as they wait–and all the while, she listens as he plans Roland's birthday weekend.

He's almost startled when the timer rings and a grin edges onto Regina's lips as she hands him a pair of gray over mitts, letting him know that he can do the honors of pulling the cake from the oven.

Nodding, he takes the mitts and slips them onto his hands, slowly pulling open the oven door and grabbing hold of the baking dish–and almost as soon as he withdraws the cake, he's overwhelmed by the soft, warm smell of honey and vanilla.

Turning back to the counter, he sets it down and feels a flicker of both pride and disappointment when he looks down at the golden cake and Regina tells him it'll be another fifteen minutes before it's cool, and longer until then can test it. Then, she links his arm through his, reminding him that no birthday cake is complete without copious amounts of frosting, as she tugs him toward the pantry–and he finds himself feeling so much calmer and grateful that fate allowed their lives to collide.


End file.
